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TUB 



POETICAL WORKS 



SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART„ 

M 

CONTAINIMfl 

LA ]f OF THE LAST MINSTREL, HARMION, LADT OF TEK 

LAKE, DON RODEKICK, ROKEBT, BALLADS, 

LYRICS, AND SONGS. 



WITH ▲ LIFE OF THE AUTH09. 



NEW YORK: 
D. APPLETON & CO., 200 BROADWAY. 

1853. 



COVTEVgS, 



PAM 

Umoia OJ THS Autbob, . . • • ^ 

fOBMB. • 

Lay of the Last MinstreU .... I 

Marmion, . . • ■ • . . vf 

Lady of the Lake, .... SW 

Don Roderick, ♦'^9 

Bokeby, ^^ 

BAI.^A»S AND LtBICAI, P1BCE8. 

GlenfiiUas, or Lord Konald'8 Coronach, . .571 

The Eve of Saint John, . . . . STT'S 

Cadyow Castle, ... . . .584 

The Ctey Brother, .... 590 

Thomas the Rhymer, Part I. . .595 

Part IL alteifil ff.nj lUirierst 

propheciess 598 

Part lU. mort,-in. . 600 

The Fire King. . . , 605 

Frederick and Alice, . . . • .6(0 

^ The Wild Hiintsman. . - ^'2 



§0N08. 

War Song of the Royal Edinburgh Li,rla D:^-cs.sa, . 6)8 

nie Norman Horse-Shoe, .... 619 

The Dying Bard, "*^ 

TheMaidofT«ro» * * * * ' ^ 






MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOB. 



DANIEIi IVOBLE JOHNSON^ 



StR Walter Scott was one of the sons of Walter 
Scott, Esq., writer to the signet, by Anne, daughter 
of Dr John Rutherford, professor of the practice of 
medicine, in the university of Edinburgh ; and was 
born in that city, on the fifteenth of August, 1771, 
being the third of a family consisting of six sons and 
one daughter. His paternal grandfather, Mr Robert 
Scott, farmer at Sandyknow, in the vicinity of Smail- 
holm Tower, in Roxburghshire, was the son of Mr 
Walter Scott, a younger son of Walter Scott of Rae- 
bum, third son of Sir William Scott of Harden. 

The above-mentioned Walter lived at the time of 
the restoration, and embraced the tenets of quaker- 
ism ; but for this he endured no little persecution, 
both from Presbyterian and Episcopalian. Walter, 
the second son of this gentleman, and father to the 
novelist's grandfather, was so zealous a Jacobite, that 
he made a vow never to shave his beard till the 
exiled house of Stuart should be restored, whence he 
acquired the name of Beardie. 

Dr John Rutherford, maternal gxandfather to the 
subject of this memoir, and one of the pupils of Boer- 
haave, was the first professor of the practice of phy- 
sic in the university of Edinburgh, to which office he 
was elected in 1727, and which he resigned in 1766, 
in favour of the celebmted Dr John Gregory. His 



Tl MEMOIR OF 

wife, the maternal grandmother of Sir Walter, was 
Jean Swinton, daughter of Swinton of Swinton, in 
Berwickshire, one of the oldest families in Scotland, 
and at one period very po-\verful. Sir Walter has in- 
troduced a chivah-ic representative of this race into 
his drama of "■ Halidon Hill." 

Existence opened upon the author of Waverley, in 
one of the duskiest parts of the northern capital, which 
■was the head of the College Wynd, a narrow alley 
leading from the Cowgate to the gate of the college ; 
and before he was two years old, he received a fall 
out of the arms of a careless nurse, which injured his 
right foot, and rendered him lame for life ; hut this 
accident did not otherwise affect his health or general 
activity. His mother, who had a taste for poetry, and 
•was intimately acquainted with the poets of her day, 
particularly Raiftsay, Blacklock, Beattie, and Burns, 
is said to have shown a mother's fondness when the 
boy made his first attempt at verse. Before Sir 
Walter could receive any impressions from the roman- 
tic scenery of the old town of Edinburgh, he was re- 
moved, on account of the delicacy of his health, to 
the country, and lived for a considerable period under 
the charge of his paternal grandfather at Sandyknow. 
This farm is situate upon a rising ground, near the 
bottom of Leader AVater, and overlooks a large part 
of the vale of Tweed. In the immediate neighbour- 
hood of the farm-house, upon a rocky foundation, 
stood the Border fortlet called Smailholm '1 ower, 
■which possessed many features to attract the attention 
of the young poet. At the "• evening fire" of Sandy- 
know also, Sir Walter learned much of that Border 
lore which be afterw^aidn "WTough!. up iu his fictions. 
_ After having undei;gone the usual routine of juve- 
nile instruction. Sir Walter became a pupil in the 
High School of Edinburgh ; but as a scholar, ho ap- 
pears to have been by no means remarkable for pro- 
ficiency. There is his own authority for saying, that 
even in the exercise of metrical translation, he fell 
far short of some of his companions ; although others 
pretend that this was a depai-tm.ent in which he al- 
ways manifested a superiority. There is one anec- 
dote, however, worth preserving, connected with this 



rf 



THE AUTHOR. Til 

rariod. It is said, that Burns, while at Professor 
Ferguson's one day, ■v\as struck by some lines attach* 
«d to a print of a soldier dying in the snow. He in- 
quired by whom they were written — and none of the 
company having returned answer, — after a pause, the 
youthful poet replied, " They are by Langhorne." — 
Bums fixed his large bright eyes on the boy, and 
striding up to him, said, " It is no common course of 
reading which has taught you this : this lad will be 
heard of yet." 

With regard to Sir Walter's inclination for ficti- 
tious storj', we have his OAvn testimony, at the distance 
of nearly half a centur)', for this habit of his early 
youth : " I must refer to a very early period of my 
life, were I to point out my first achievements as a 
tale-teller •, but I believe some of my old school-fel- 
lows can still bear witness that I had a distinguished 
character for that talent, at a time when the ap- 
plause of my companions was my recompense for the 
disgraces and punishments which the future romance- 
writer incurred for being idle himself, and keeping 
others idle, during hours that should have been em- 
ployed on our tasks. The chief enio^Tiient of my 
holidays was to escape with a chosen friend, Avho had 
the same taste with myself, and alternately to recite 
to each other such wild adventures a,5 we were able 
to devise. We told, each in turn, interminable 
tales of knight-errantiy, and battles, and enchant- 
ments, which were continued from one day to another 
as opportunity offered, without our ever thinking of 
bringing them to a conclusion. As we observed a 
strict secrecy on the subject of this intercourse, it ao- 
quired all the character of concealed pleasure : and 
we used to select for the scenes of our indulgence, 
long walks through the solitary and romantic en- 
virons of Arthur's Seat, Salisbury Crags, Braid Hills, 
and similar places in the vicinity of Edinburgh ; and 
the recollection of those holidays still forms an oasis 
in the pilgrimage which I have to look back upon." 

After having been two years under the rector of 
the High School, Sir AValter entered himself, in 17^3, 
for the Humanity or Latin class in the university of 
Edinburgh, under Professor Hill, and the Greek class 



viii MEMOIR OF 

under Professor Dalzell; and for the latter, oao9 
more, in 1784. But the only other class for which 
he seems to have matriculated at the College, was 
that of Logic, under Professor Bruce, in 1785. Al- 
though he may perhaps have attended other classes 
without matriculation, there is reason to believe that 
his irregular health produced a corresponding irregu- 
larity in his academical studies. The resixlt, it is to 
he feared, was, that he entered life much in the con- 
dition of his illustrious prototype, the bard of Avon 
— that is, "with a little Latin and less Greek." He 
had now given up the character of a student, with the 
intention of preparing himself for the bar, when he 
was overtaken by a severe illness ; an account of 
which, and its important effects on his future character 
and course, he has thus given in the autobiographical 
chapter formerly referred to : — 

" When boyhood advancing into youth required 
more serious studies and graver cares, a long illness 
threw me back on the kingdom of fiction, as if it were 
by a species of fatality. My indisposition arose, in 
part at least, from my having broken a blood-vessel ; 
and motion and speech were for along time pronoun- 
ced positively dangerous. For several weeks I was 
confined strictly to bed, during wliich time I was 
not allowed to speak above a Avhi.sper, to eat more 
than a spoonful or two of boiled rice, or to have more 
covering than one thin counterpane. When the 
reader is infonned that I was at this time a growing 
youth, with the spirits, appetite, and impatience oi 
fifteen, and suffered, of course, greatly under this 
severe regimen, which the repeated return of my dis- 
order rendered indispensable, he will not be surprised 
that I was abandoned to my own discretion, so far 
as reading (my almost sole amusement) A^-as concern- 
ed, and still less so, that I abused the indulgence 
■which left my time so much at my own disposal. 

" There was at this time a circulating library at 
Edinburgh, founded, I believe, by the celebrated 
Allan Ramsay, which, besides containing a most re- 
speetable collection of books of every description, was, 
as might haa^e been expected, peculiarly rich in works 
of fiction. It exhibited specimens of every kind, from 



THE AUTHOR. ix 

the romances of chivalry, and the ponderous folios of 
Cyrus and Cassandra, down to the most approved 
works of later times. I was plunged into this great 
ocean of reading without compass or pilot ; and unless 
when some one had the charity to play at chess with 
me, I was allowed to do nothing save read, from 
morning to night. I was, in kindness and pity, which 
was perhaps erroneous, however natural, permitted to 
select my subjects of study at my own pleasure, upon 
the same principle that the humours of children are 
indulged to keep them out of mischief. As my taste 
and appetite were gratified in nothing else, I indem- 
nified myself by becoming a glutton of books. Ac- 
cordingly, I believe I read fJmost all the old romances, 
old plays, and epic poetry, in that formidable collec- 
tion, and no doubt was unconsciously amassing ma- 
terials for the task in which it has been my lot to be 
so much employed. 

" At the same time, I did not in all respects abuse 
the license permitted me. Fam.iliar acquaintance 
with the specious miracles of fiction brought with it 
some degree of satiety, and I began by degrees to 
seek in histories, memoirs, voyages and travels, and 
the like, events nearly as wonderful as those which 
were the work of the imagination, with the additional 
advantage that they were, at least, in a great measure 
true. The lapse of nearly two years, during which I 
was left to the service ol my ovfv. free will, was fol- 
lowed by a temporary residence in the countr}', where 
I was again very lonely, but for the amusement which 
I derived from a good though old-fashioned library. 
The vague and wild use which I made of this advan- 
tage I cannot describe better than by referring my 
reader to the desultory studies of Waverley in a simi 
lar situation ; the passages concerning whose reading 
were imitated from recollections of my own." 

His two years' residence in the country completely 
restored his health, and as it was necessary to pursue 
his studies for the bar, he attended the lectures of 
professor Dick on civil law, in the college, and per- 
formed the duties of a writer's apprentice under his 
father. In alluding to this period he says : " The 
Bevere studies necessary to render me fit for my pro- 
fession, occupied the greatest part of my time, and tho 
a 2 



X HEUOIE OF 

gociety of my friends and companions, who were 
about to enter life along with me, filled up the inter- 
val with the usual amusements of young men. I waa 
in a situation which rendered serious labour indispen- 
sable ; for, neither possessing, on the one hand, any 
of those peculiar advantages which are supposed to 
favour a hasty advance in the profession of the law, 
nor being on the other hand exposed to unusual ob- 
stacles to interrupt my progress, I might reasonably 
expect to succeed according to the greater or less de- 
gree of trouble which I should take to qualify myself 
as a pleader." 

On the 10th of July, 1792, when just on the point 
of completing his twenty-first year, he was called to 
the bar as an advocate, and enabled, by the aflluence 
of his father, to begin life in an elegant house in a 
fashionable part of the town ; but it was not his lot 
to acquire either wealth or distinction at the bar. 
The truth is, his mind was not yet emancipated from 
that enthusiastic pursuit of knowledge ^^ hich had dis- 
tinguished his youth. His necessities, were not so 
great as to make an exclusive application to his pro- 
fession imperative ; and he therefore seemed destined 
to join, what a sarcastic barrister lias termed, " the 
ranks of the gentlemen who are not anxious for busi- 
ness." Although he could speak readily and fluently 
at the bar, his intellect was not at all of a forensic 
cast. He appeared to be too much of the abstract 
and unworldly scholar, to assume readily the habits of 
an adroit pleader ; and, even although he had been 
perfectly competent to the duties, it is a question if 
his external aspect and general reputation would have 

f)ennitted the generality of agents to intioist them to 
lis hands. 

At the time when Sir Walter entered public life, 
almost all the respectable part of the community were 
indignant at the hostile menaces of France ; and nu- 
merous bodies of volunteer militia were consequently 
formed to meet the threatened invasion. In the be- 
ginning of 1797, the gentlemen of Mid- Lothian imi- 
.tated the example, by imbodying themselves in a 
cavalry corps, vmder the name of the Royal Mid- 
Lothian Regiment of Cavalry ; and Mr ^^' alter Scott 
had the honour to be appointed its adjutant, for which 



THE AUTHOR. . n 

his lameness was considered no bar. lie waa 
a very zealous officer, and highly popular in the legi- 
ment, on account of his extreme good-humour and 

{)owers of social^ntertainment ; and his appointment 
ed to an intimacy -with the most considerable man 
of his name, Henry, duke of Buccleuch, and Mr 
Henry Dundas, who was now one of his Majesty's 
secretaries of state, and a lively promoter of the 
scheme of national defence in Scotland. It was 
about this time that he became known amongst a few 
of his friends as a poet; and, in alluding to this period 
of his life, he has thus given an account of the cir- 
cumstances which led him to cultivate poetry. 

During the last ten years of the eighteenth century, 
the art of poetry was at a remarkably low ebb in 
Britain. Hayley, to whom fashion had some years 
before ascribed a higher degree of reputation than 
posterity has confirmed, had now lost his reputation 
for talent, though he still lived admired and respected 
as an amiable and accomplished man. The Bard of 
Memoiy slumbered on his laurels, and he of Hope 
had scarce begun to attract his share of public atten- 
tion. Cowper, a poet of deep feeling and bright 
genius, was dead, and, even while alive, the hypo- 
chondria, which was his mental malady, impeded his 
popularity. Burns, whose genius oui southern neigh- 
bours could hardly yet comprehend, had long confined 
himself to song- writing. 

Mr Henry Mackenzie was the first to direct the 
attention of the Scottish literati to German literature, 
by a paper which he read to the Edinburgh Royal 
Society, in August, 1788. On this subject. Sir Wal- 
ter continues — 

" The remarkable coincidence between the German 
language and that of the Lowland Scottish, encour- 
aged young men to approach this newly discovered 
mine; a class was formed, of six or seven intimate 
friends, who proposed to make themselves acquainted 
with the German language. They were in the habit 
of living much together, and the time they spent in 
this study was felt as a period of great amusement. 
One source of this diversion was the laziness of one 
of their number, the present author, who,, adverse to 
the necessary toils of grammar and its rules, was in 



XU MEMOIR OF 

th practice of fighting his way to the knowledge of 
the German by his acquaintance with the Scottish 
and Anglo-Saxon dialects, and, of course, frequently 
committing blunders, which were not lost on his more 
accurate and more studious companfcns." 

About this period — that is, in the year 1793 or 
1794 — Mrs Barbauld paid a visit to Edinburgh. She 
lived in the house of Professor Dugald Stewart, and 
one evening she astonished the family circle to a great 
degi-ee, by reading aloud a translation of Burger's 
" Lenore," executed by Mr Taylor of Norwich. A 
friend who had heard it, told Sir Walter what im- 
pression the recitation had occasioned, and repeated 
to him the rude but striking passage, descriptive oi 
the supernatural speed of the ghostly horseman and 
his mistress : — 

" Tramp, tramp, along the land they rode. 

Splash, splash, aloii^ the sea. 
Hurra, the dead can ride apace. 
Dost fear to ride with me }' 

Inspired with a strong desire to see the original. Sir 
Walter, with great difficulty, obtained a copy from 
Germany, through the kind offices of Mrs Scott of 
Harden, who was a German by birth. "• The per- 
usal," says Sir Walter, " rather exceeded than disap- 
pointed the expectations which the report of Mr 
Stewart's family had induced me to form ; and the 
book had only been a few hours in my possession, 
when I found myself giving an animated account of 
the poem to a friend, and rashly added a promise to 
furnish a copy in English ballad verse. I well recol- 
lect that I began my task after supper, and finished 
it about daybreak the next morning, (it consists of 
sixty-six stanzas,) by which time the ideas which the 
task had a tendency to summon up were rather of an 
uncomfortable character." 

The young poet was so much pleased with his suc- 
cess on this occasion, as to attempt a few more trans- 
lations from Burger, particularly of the poem entitled 
"Der Wilde Jager." "In the course of a few 
weeks," says he, " my own vanity, and the favourable 
opinion of my friends, interested by the revival of a 
species of poetiy, containing a germ of po]m!arity, of 
which, perhaps, they wer» not themselves aware, 



THE AUTHOR. xlH 

urged me to the decisive step of sending a selection, 
at least, of my translations to the press, to save the 
numerous applications -which were made for copies. 
When was an author deaf to such a recommendation ? 
In 1796, the pre|^t author was prevailed on, by re- 
quest of friends, to mdulge his o^vn vanity, by publish- 
ina^the translation of ' Lenore,' with that of ' The 
"V\Trd Huntsman,' in a^ihin quarto. •» . . . The fate 
of this, my first publication, was by no means flattery 
ing. I distributed so many copies among my friends, 
as materially to interfere with the sale ; and the num- 
ber of translations which appeared in England about 
the same time, including that of Mr Taylor, to whom 
I had been so much indebted, and which was pub- 
lished in the Monthly Magazine, were sufficient to 

exclude a provincial writer from competition 

In a word, my advewture proved a dead loss ; and a 
great part of the edition was condemned to the ser- 
vice of the tninkmaker." This failure, instead of 
disposing the new-fledged bard to retire from the field 
of letters, rather tempted him to proceed, in order 
" to show the world that it had neglected something 
worth notice." He pursued the Grerman language 
keenly, procured more books in that language from 
their native country, and extended his views to the 
dramatic authors, so that early in 1799, he published 
"Goetz of Berlichingen, a tragedy translated from 
Goethe." 

. The next efforts of Sir "Walter Scott were of higher 
promise and power, but still they were as much anti- 
quarian as poetical ; we allude to his " Minstrelsy of 
the Scottish Border," and his " Sir Tristrem." The 
vein of poetry was by this time discovered, and the 
request of Monk Lewis to contribute to his Tales of 
Wonder, soon determined Scott's career. " Glenfin- 
las," " The Baron of Smaylhome,'' and " The Fire- 
King," were the gems of the book ; and poor Lewis, 
then at the head of the ballad school of diablerie, 
found himself in the predicament of a sor&erer who 
has evoked a demon so much more powerful than 
himself as to deprive him of his wand. From that 
period the destiny of Sir Walter Scott was fixed — he 
get up, to use his own words, like a hawker, on th« 
strength of a couple of ballads. 



XIV MEMOIR OF 

On Christmas eve, 1 797, Sir Walter was married 
to Miss Margaret Carpenter, daughter of the deceased 
John Carpenter, Esq., of the city of liyons, a gentle- 
man -who had fallen a victim to the excesses of the 
French revolution. Soon after Jus marriage, he 
established himself, during-the ylRtions, in a de- 
lightful^etreat at Laswade, on the banks_jaf ^e 
Esk, about five miles to the south of EdinbiM^gh.^ 

For some year^before the end" of the century, Sir 
Milter hadheen in the habit of making, periodically, 
what he calledX^aids " into Liddesdale, for the pur- 
pose*of jcoUecting the ballad poetry of that romantic 
and most primitive district. He travelled thither, 
from Roxburghshire, in an old gig, which also con- 
tained his early fpiend and local guide, Mr Robert 
Shortreed of Jedburgh, sheriff-substittite of the county. 
Introduced by this gentleman, Si^W alter paid visits 
to many of'the farmers and small^roprietors, among 
whom^rftr among their retainers, he picked up several 
capital specimens of the4)opular poetry of the district, 
descriptive of adventures of renown wliith took place 
in th^ days of yore, besides impressing his mind with 
that perception of the character of the people, which 
he afterwards imbodied in his Dandie Dinmont. Mr 
Shortreed, who was a most intelligent person, used 
to relate an amusing anecdote, illustrative of the shy 
manners of this sequestered race. On visiting a par- 
ticular person, whose name and place of residence 
are sufficiently indicated by his usual designation of 
"Willie o' Milbum," the honest fanner was from 
home, but returned while Sir Walter was tying up 
his horse in the stable. On being told by Mr Short- 
reed that an Edinburgh advocate was come to see 
him, he expressed great alarm, and even terror, as to 
the character of his visitor, — the old fear of the law 
being still so very rife in Liddesdale as even to ex- 
tend to the simple person of any of its administra- 
tors. What idea Willie had formed of an Ediuburgl 
barrister cannot exactly be defined ; but, having 
gone out to reconnoitre, he soon after came back with 
a countenance of so mirthful a cast as evidently be- 
spoke a relieved mind. " Is yon the advocate .''" he 
inquired of Mr Shortreed. " Yes, Willie," answered 
that gentleman. " Deil o' me's feared for them. 



THE AUTHOR. XV 

■then," cried the £wnner; "yon's just a chield like 
oursells !" 

It was not alone necessary on such occasions to 
write dovm old ballads from recitation, but to store 
np the materials of notes by which the ballads them- 
Belves might be illustrated. On this account Scott 
visited many scenes alluded to in the metrical narra- 
tives, and opened his ear to all the local anecdotes and 
legends which were handed do'WTi by the peasantry. 
He had a most peculiar, and even mysterious mode of 
committing these to memory. He used neither pen- 
cil nor pen, but seizing upon any twig or piece of 
wood which he could find, marked it by means of a 
clasp-knife, with various notches, representing parti- 
cular ideas in his own mind ; and the^e afterwards 
were strung up before him in his study at home, like 
the nick-sticks over a baker's desk, or the string-al- 
phabet of a blind man. He seemed to have invented 
this algebraic system of memorandum-making for 
his own use ; and, to all appearance, was as conver- 
sant with its mysteries as he could be with the more 
common accomplishment of wi-iting. When his own 
pockets were inconveuiently stuffed with notes, he 
would request Mr Shortreed to take charge of a few ; 
and often that gentleman has discharged as much 
timber from his various integuments, as, to use his 
owTi phrase, quoted from Burns, might have mended 
a mill. The truth is. Sir Walter was blessed with a 
memory of extraordinary power, so that a very slight 
notation was necessary to bring to his recollection 
anything he had ever heard. The collections of Scott 
in Liddesdale, joined to various contributions from 
reciters in other parts of the country, foimed his first 
publication of note, the Minstrelsy of the Scottish 
Border. This work which was issued in 1802, dis- 
played a vast quantity of curious and abstruse learn- 
mg ; and, in particular, a most intimate acquaintance 
with a district of Scotland which had hitherto re- 
ceived hardly any attention either from the historian 
or the antiquary. Previous to this period — in Decem- 
ber, 1799 — he had been appointed sheriif of Selkirk- 
shire, an office which rendered it necessary that he 
should reside a certain part of the year in Selkirk- 
shire ; and he therefore engaged the house of Ashie- 



M MEMOIR OP 

stei], ou the banks of the Tweed, which continued to 
be his country residence till he removed to Abbots- 
ford. In 1804, Mr Scott increased his reputation as 
a literary antiquary, by publishing the ancient min- 
Btrel tale of "Sir Tristrem," which he showed, in a 
learned disquisition, to have been composed by 
Thomas of Ercildoune, commonly called Thomas the 
Rhymer, who flourished in the thirteenth century. 
By this publication, it was established that the ear- 
liest existing poem in the English language was writ- 
ien by a native of the Lowlands of Scotland. 

But for the ensuing circumstances of the poet's 
life, it will be best to resort to his o^^^l narrative, 
introductory to a late edition of the Lay of the Last 
Minstrel. * 

The history of the rise and progress of this poem, 
the author has himself thus related ; — 

"The lovely young countess of Dalkeith, after- 
wards Harriet, duchess of Buccleuch, had come to 
the land of her husband, with the desire of making 
herself acquainted with its traditions and customs. 
She soon heard enough of Border lore : among others, 
an aged gentleman of property, near Langholm, (Mr 
Stoddart,) communicated to her ladyship the story of 
Gilpin Horner, a tradition in which the narrator, 
and many more of that county, v/ere firm believers. 
The young countess, much delighted with the legend, 
and the gravity and full confidence with which it was 
told, enjoined it on me as a task to compose a ballad 
on the subject. Of course, to hear was to obey ; and 
thus the goblin story, objected to by several critics 
as an excrescence upon the poem, was in fact, the oc- 
casion of its being written. 

" It was, to the best of my recollection, more than 
a year after Mr Stoddart's visit, that, by way of ex- 
periment, I composed the first two or three stanzas 
of ' The Lay of the Last Minstrel.' I was shortly 
afterwards visited by two intimate friends, whom I 
was in the habit of consuldng on my attempts at com- 
position, having equal confidence in their sound taste 
and friendly sincerity. In this specimen I had, in 
the phrase of the Highland servant, packed all that 
was my own, at least, lor I had also included a lino 
of invocation, a little softened, from Coleridge — • 



THE AUTHOR. xvfl 

• Mary, mother, shield us welV 

As neither of my friends said much to me on the 
subject of the stanzas I showed them before their de- 
parture, I had no doubt that their disgust had been 
greater than their good nature chose to express. 
Looking upon them, therefore, as a failure, I threw 
the manuscript into the fire, and thought as little 
more as I could of the matter. Some time after- 
wards, I met one of my two counsellors, who inquired, 
with considerable appearance of interest, about the 
progress of the romance I had commenced, and was 
greatly surprised at learning its fate. He confessed 
that neither he nor our mutual friend had been at 
first able to give a precise opinion on a poem so much 
out of the common road ; but that as they walked 
home together to the city, they had talked much on 
the subject, and the result was an earnest desire that 
I would proceed with the composition. 

" The poem, being once licensed by the critics as 
fit for the market, was soon finished, proceeding at 
about the rate of a canto per week. There was, in- 
deed, little occasion for pause or hesitation, Avhen a 
troublesome rhyme might be accommodated by an al- 
teration of the stanza, or where an incorrect measure 
might be remedied by a variation of the rhyme. 

"It was finally published in 1805, and may be re- 
garded as the first work in which th^ -writer, who has 
been since so voluminous, laid his claim to be con- 
sidered as an original author." 

During the year 1806, Sir Walter collected his 
original compositions in the ballad style into a small 
volume, which he published under the title of "jBaZ- 
lads and Lyrical Pieces.'''' In 1808, he published his 
second poem of magnitude, " Marmion," in which, 
we are informed by himself, he took great pains, and 
was disposed to take still more, if the distresses of a 
friend had not " rendered it convenient, at least, if 
not necessary, to hasten its publication. By good 
fortune," says Sir Walter, " the novelty of the sub- 
ject, and, if I may say so, some force and vivacity of 
description, were allowed to atone for many imperfec- 
tions. Thus, the second experiment was, in my case, 
decidedly successfuL" 



XVIU MEMOIR OP 

Marmion had been published at the very com- 
mencement of the year 1B08; within a few weeks 
thereafter appeared "The Works of John Dryden, 
in eigliteen vohimes, illustrated with Notes, Histori- 
cal, Critical, and Explanatory, and a Life of the 
Author, by Walter Scott, Esq." In 1809, he assisted 
in editing "The State Papers and Letters of Sir Ralph 
Sadler," which appeared in two expensive volumes, 
in 4to. — In the same year. Sir Walter contributed 
like assistance to a new edition of lord Somers's in- 
valuable collection of tracts, which appeared in twelve 
volumes, 4to. He also became a contributor to an 
Annual Register, on a more ambitious principle than 
any hitherto attempted — a work at first edited by 
Mr Suuthey. 

Fortunately for all the lovers of poetry, the moun- 
tain-harp was not yet set aside amidst these more 
severe studies in prose, and in "The Lady of the 
Lake," Sir Walter Scott appeared to have produced 
the finest specimen of which his genius was capable. 
In 1811, appeared " Don Roderick," a dreamy vati- 
cination of modern Spanish history ; and in 1813, he 
published " Rokeby," in which he attempted, to in- 
vest English scenery and a tale of the civil wai", with 
the charm which he had already throwTi over the 
Scottish Highlands, and Borders, and their romantic 
inhabitants. Rokeby met with a decidedly unfavour- 
able reception, which onlv excited him to a more 
strenuous efTort; and, in 1814, he published "The 
Lord of the Isles." Even the name of Bruce, how- 
ever, could not compensate the want of what liad 
been the most captivating charm of his earlier pro- 
ductions — the development of new poAvers and styles 
of poesy. He afterwards published anonymously 
two smaller poems in succession, named "The BridaJ 
of Triermain," and " Harold the Dauntless ;" but 
they made a very slight impression upon the public. 

From these instarices of want of success, it no^ 
hecarae evident to Sir Walter, that he must " change 
his hand," if he wished to continue in favour with 
the public. Waverley was, therefore, published in 
1814; and, as the titie-page was without the name of 
the author, the work was left to win its way in the 
■world without any of the usual recommendations. 



THE AUTHOR. XlK 

Its progress was for some time slow ; but, after the 
first two or three months, its popularity increased in 
a degree which must have satisfied the exp-ictations 
of the author, had these been far more sanguine 
than he ever entertained. To Waverley succeeded, 
in 1815, Guy Mannering; in 1816, the Antiquary, 
and the First Series of the Tales of my Landlord, 
containing the Black Dwarf and Old Mortality ; in 
1818, Rob Roy, and the Second Series of the Tales 
of . my Landlord, containing the Heart of jNIid- 
Lothian ; and, in 1819, the Third Series of the Tales 
of my Landlord, containing the Bride of Lauimer- 
moor and a Legend of Montrose. 

Having now dra^vn upon public curiosity to the ex- 
tent of twelve volumes under two incognitos, he 
thought it necessary to adopt a third ; and, according- 
ly, he intended Ivanhoe, which appeared in the be- 
ginning of 1820, to come forth as the first work of a 
new candidate for public favour ; namely, Lawrence 
Templeton. From this design he was diverted by 
the publication of a novel at London, pretending to 
be a fourth series of the Talcs of my Landlord. It 
was therefore judged necessary that Ivanhoe should 
appear as a veritable production of the author of 
Waverley. To it succeeded, in the course of the same 
year, the Monastery and the Abbot, which were 
reckoned the least meritorious of all his prose tales. 
In the beginning of the year 1821 appeared Kenil- 
worth, making twelve volumes, if not written, at 
least published, in as many months. In 1822 he pro- 
duced the Pirate and the Fortunes of Nigel ; in 1823, 
Peveril of the Peak and Queutin Durward: in 1824, 
St Ronan's Well and Redgaiintlet ; in 1825, Tales of 
the Crusaders; in 182(5, Woodstock; in 1827, 
Chronicles of the Canongate, first series ; in 1828, 
Chronicles of the Canongate, second series; in 1829, 
Anne of Geierstein : and, in 1831, a fourth series of 
Tales of my Landlord, in four volumes, containing 
two tales, respectively entitled, Count Robert of 
Paris, and Castle Dangerous. The whole of these 
novels, except where otherwise specified, consisted of 
three volumes, and, with those formerly enumerated, 
make up the amount of his fictitious prose composi- 
tions to the enormous sum of seventy-four volumes. 



iX MEMOIR OP 

ThzcugLout the whole of his career, both as a poet 
and novelist, Sir Walter was in the habit of turning 
aside occasionally to less important avocations of a 
literaiy <:;haracter. He was a contributor to the Edin- 
burgh Review during the first few years of its exis- 
tence, and to the Quarterly Review he Avas a con- 
siderable contributor, especially for the lust five or 
6ix years of his life, during which, that excellent 
periodical was conducted by his son-in-law, Mr Lock- 
hart. To the Supplement of the Sixtli Edition of 
the Encyclopsedia Britannica, he contributed the arti- 
cles " Chivalry," " Romance," and the '• Drama." 
In 1814, he edited "The Works of Swift," in 1 
volumes, with a Life of the Author ; a heavy work, 
but which, nevertheless, required a reprint some years 
afterwards. In 1814, Sir Waiter gave his name and 
an elaborate introductory' essay to a work, entitled 
" Border Antiquities," (two vols., 4to,) Avhich con- 
sisted of engravings of the principal antique objects 
on both sides of the Border, accompanied by descrip- 
tive letter-press. In 1815, he made a tour through 
France and Belgium, visiting the scene of the recent 
victory over Napoleon. The result was a lively tra- 
veller's volume, under the title of "Paul's Letters to 
his Kinsfolk," and a poem styled " The Field of 
Waterloo." In the same year, he joined with Mr 
Robert Jameson and Mr Henry Weber, in composing 
a quarto on Icelandic Antiquities. In 1819, he pub- 
lished "An Account of the Regalia of Scotland," and 
undertook to furnish the letter-press to a second col- 
lection of engravings, under the title of " Provincial 
Antiquities and Picturesque Scenery of Scotland." 
In 1822, Sir Walter published "Trivial Poems and 
Triolets, by P. Carey, with a Preface ;" and, in 1822, 
appeared his dramatic poem of " Halidou Ilill." In 
the succeeding year, he contributed a smaller drama- 
tic poem, under the title of " MacdufTs Cross," to a 
collection of Miss Joanna Baillie. The sum of his 
remaining poetical works may here be made up, by 
adding "The Doom of Devorgoil," and "The Auchin- 
drane Tragedy," which appeared in one volume in 
1 830. It cannot be said of any of the&e compositions, 
that they have made a deep impression upon tlie pub- 
lic. In consequence of these high literary achieve- 



THE AUTHOR. XXl 

noents, his INIajesty George IV. was pleased, in March, 
1820, tc create him a baronet of the United Kingdom, 
being the first to whom he had extended that honoup 
after his accession to the crown. 

In 18"25, Mr Constable having projected a cheap 
beries of original and selected works, engaged Sir 
Walter to compose a " Life of Bonaparte." This 
work was in progress, when, in Januarj^ .1026, 
Messrs Constable & Co., became bankrupt. For 
many years before. Sir Walter had been in the habit 
of drawing bills, at long dates, upon his publishers, 
as pavTiient of the copy-right of his works ; and, as he 
occasionally was obliged with their acceptances on 
the strength of works not yet written, he was in some 
measure compelled, by a sense of gratitude, to give 
his name to other obligations, which were incurred 
by the house, for the purpose of taking up the origi- 
nal engagements. Thus, although Sir ^^'^alte^ ap- 
peared to receive pavTnent for his literary labours in 
a very prompt manner, he was pledging away his 
name all the while, for sums perhaps not much in- 
ferior in amount to those which he realized ; so that, 
in the long run, he stood engaged to certain banks, 
in behalf of Messrs Constable & Co., for, it is said, 
about £60,000; in other words, a great portion of 
the earnings of his literary life. 

The blow was endured with a magnanimity wor- 
thy of the greatest writer of the age. In the mar- 
riage contract of Sir Walter's eldest son, the estate 
of Abbotsford had been settled upon the young pair, 
and it was therefore beyond the reach of his creditors. 
By this legal arrangement, indeed. Sir Walter had 
hardly any property to present against the immense 
amount of his debts. There was one asset, however, 
which greatly surpassed the worldly goods of most 
debtors — his head. " Gentlemen," said he to the claim- 
ants using the Spanish proverb, " time and I against 
two. Let me take this good ally into company, and I 
believe I shall be able to pay you every farthing." He 
further proposed, in their behaif, to insure the sum of 
£22, 000 upon his life. A trust deed was accordingly 
executed, in which he was considered a member of 
the printing firm of James Ballautyiie & Co,; and it 
appeared that the whole debts, including what must 



— '/ 



XXil ^MEMOIR OF 

have been contracted commercially, amounted ta 
£102,000, of which, however, the avithor of Waverley 
considered himself as personally I'csponsible for by 
far the greater part. He then sat down, at fifty-five 
years of age, to the task of redeeming this enormous 
debt. In the first place, he sold his furniture ami 
house in Edinburgh, and retiealed into a humble 
lodging in a second-rate street. During the vacations, 
when residing at Abbotsford, he almost entirely gave 
up seeing company, a resolution the more easily car- 
ried into effect, as lady Scott vras now dead. He 
was at this time labouring at his Life of Napoleon, 
which expanded under his hands to a bulk much be- 
yond what was originally contemplated. In the 
autumn of 1826, he paid a visit to Paris, to acquaint 
himself with several local and historical details neces- 
sary for his work. On this occasion he was received 
in the kindest manner by the reigning monarch, the 
misguided Charles X. "The Life of Napoleon Bona- 
parte" appeared in the summer of 1827, in nine vols. 
Bvo., and produced, it is understood, the sum of 
£12,000. 

Till the failure of Messrs Constable and Co., the 
Waverley secret was kept inviolate ; but the inquiry 
into the affairs of the house, rendered it no longer 
possible to conceal the nature of its connexion with 
Sir \\^ alter Scott. The copyright of these v>-orks was 
announced for sale, and it was necessary for Sir Wal- 
ter to reveal his secret in the best manner he could. 
Accordingly, at the annual dinner, 23d February, 
1827, of the Edinburgh Theatrical Fund, in ansvv'er 
to an allusion by his friend lord Meadowbank, he 
declared himself the author of all the Waverley 
novels — the sole and undivided author. 

About the same time, the copyright of all his past 
novels was brought to the hammer, as part of the 
bankrupt stock of Messrs Constable Si Co. It was 
bought by Mr Robert Cadell, of the late firm of 
Archibald Constable & Co., at £8,400, for the pur- 
pose of republishing the whole in a cheap uniform 
series of volumes, illustrated by notes and ])reface3, 
and amended in many parts by the finishing touches 
of the author. Sir \V alter or his creditors were to 
have half the profits, in cousideratiou of his literar}' 



THE AUTHOR. xxiil 

aid. Tins was a most fortmiate design. The nvw 
edition began to appear in June, 1829; and such was 
its adaptation to the public convenience, and the 
eagerness of all ranks of people to contribute towards 
the reconstruction of the author's fortunes, that the 
sale soon reached an average of twenty-three thou- 
sand copies, which is a greater sale than any previous 
publication had ever obtained. 

In November, 1828, Sir Walter published the first 
part of a juvenile histor)' of Scotland, under the title 
of '* Tales of a Grandfather," being addressed to his 
grandchild, John Hugh Lockhart, whom he typified 
under the appellation of Hugh Littlejohn, Esq. In 

1829, appeared the second, and, in 1830, the third 
and concluding series of this charming book. In 

1830, he also contributed a gi-aver history of Scotland, 
in two volumes, to the periodical work called " Lard- 
ner's Cabinet Cyclopaedia." In the same vear, ap- 
peared his Letters on Demonologj- and Witchcraft, 
as a volume of Mr Murray's " Family Library." The 
profits of these various publications, but especially 
hi^ share of the profits of the new edition of his novels, 
enabled him, towards the e-id of tlie year 1830, to 
pay a dividend of three shillings in the pound, which, 
but for the accumulation of interest, would have re- 
duced his debts to nearly one-half. Of £54,000 which 
had now been paid, ^1 except six or seven thousand 
had been produced by hi^ own literan,- labours : a fact 
•which fixes the revenue of his intellect for the last 
four or five years at nearh' £10,000 a-year. Besides 
this sum, Sir Walter had also paid up the premium 
of the policy upon his life, which, as already men- 
tioned, secured a, post obit interest of £22,000 to his 
creditors. 

• During the succeeding winter, symptoms of para- 
lysis, a disease hereditary in his family, began to be 
manifested, which became gradually more violent. In 
the following autumn, his physicians recommended a 
residence in Italy, as a means of delaying the ap- 
prorxhes of his illness; and, by the kind offices of Capt. 
Basil Hall, peimission was obtained for him to sail in 
his Maje. tys ship, the Barham, which was then fitting 
out for Malta. lie set .sail from Portsmouth, on the 
27th of October, and visited Malta, Naples, and Rome. 



XXiV MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 

But feeling that his strength was rapidly decaying, 
he determined upon returning to his native country, 
in order that his bones might not be laid (to use the 
language of his o\n\ favourite minstrelsy) " far from 
the Tweed." His journey was performed too rapidly 
for his strength. For six days he travelled seventeen 
hours a-day. The consequences was, that, in passing 
down the Rhine, he experienced a severe attack ot 
his malady, which produced complete insensibility, 
and would have'inevitably carried him off, but for the 
presence of mind of his servant, who bled him profusely. 
On his arrival in London, he ordered his journey to be 
resumed; and, on Saturday, Jul}^ 7th, 1832, he departed 
by sea to Scotland, reached Abbotsford, and seemed 
revived. The cloud, however, gradually descended 
upon him ; he grew weaker and weaker — and, on 
the 21 st of September, 1 832, he died amidst his family, 
•without any appearance of pain. 

Of his moral character the following interesting 
sketch has been given by the pen of Mr Chambers : 

" It is by far the greatest glory of Sir Walter Scott, 
that he shone equally as a good and virtuous man, as 
he did in his capacity of the first fictitious writer of 
the age. His behaviour through life v\'as marked by 
undeviating integrity and purity, insomuch that no 
Bcandalous whisper was ever yet circulated against 
him. The traditionary recollection of his early life 
is burdened with no stain of any sort. His character 
as a husband and a father, if* altogether irreproach- 
able. Indeed, in no single relation of life does it ap- 
pear that he ever incurred the least blame. His 
good sense, and good feeling united, appear to have 
guided him aright through all the difficulties and 
temptations of life; and, even as a politician, though 
blamed by many for his exclusive sympathy in the 
cause of established rule, he was always acknowledged 
to be too benevole;it and too unobtrusive to call for 
severe censure. Along with the most perfect up- 
rightness of conduct, he was characterized by extra- 
ordinary simplicity of manners. He was invariably 
gracious and kind, and it was impossible ever to de- 
tect in his convereation a symptom of his grounding 
the slightest title to consideration upon his literary 
fame, or of his even being conscious of it." 



THB 

LAY 



TOE^LAST MfN8TliE&. 

IM BIX CAHTOa. 



TO 

THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
CHARLES, EARL OF DALKEITfl, 
THIS POEM IS INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOU. 



ADVICRTISEME.NT. 



The Poem, now offered to the Public, is intended to illuslralc ihe 
CU3 cms and manners, which ai'.cienily prevailed on the Biidera 
of England and Scotland. The inhabitants, living in a stale partly 
pastoral, a:id partly warlike, and combining habiut of constant de- 
pied tion with the influence of a rude spirit of chivalry, were 
often engage<l in scenes, highly susceptible of poetical ornament 
As the description of scenery and mar.nerc wa* more the object of 
the Author, than a comhined and regular narrative, the plan of 
the ancient metrical romance was adopted, which allows greater 
latitude, in this respeci, than would be congistent with the dignity 
of a regit. -ir poem. The same model offered other facilities, as it 
pein its an occasional alteration of measure, which, iu some de- 
gree, authorizes the changes or ryihm i« the text. The machin 
ery alKO, adopted from popular belief, would have seemed puerile 
in a Poem, which did not partake of the rudeness of the old 
Ballad, or Metrical Romance. 

For these reasons, the Poem was put into the mouth of an 
ancient Minsirel, the last of the race, who, as he is supposed to 
have survived the Revolution, might have caught somewhat of 
the n-finement of modern poetry, without losing the sinipJiciiy 
af his original model. Tho date of the tale il.=p.If is about the middle 
of the sixteenth oeir.ury, when most of the personages aoiually 
fluuiifhed. The lime occupied by the action is three nigb's and 
Uirec iLiyn. 



INTRODUCTION 



Thf Avay was long, the wind was cold 

rhe Minstrel was iufirm and old ; 

His withered cheek, and tresses £rray, 

Seemed to have known a better day; 

ITie harp, his sole remaining joy, 

Was carried by an "orphan boy. 

The last of all the hards was he, 

Who sung of Border chivalr}- ; 

For, well-a-day ! their date was fled, 

His tuneful brethren all were dead : 

And he, neglected and oppressed, 

Wis^hed to be with them, and at rest, 

Xo more, on prancin?^ palfrey borne. 

He carolled, light as lark at morn; 

No longer courted and caressed. 

High placed in hall, a welcome guest, 

He poured, to lord and lady gay, 

The unpremeditated lav : 

Old times were changed, old manners goaOj 

A stranger filled the Stuart'^ throne; 

The bigots of the iron time 

Had called his harmless art a ci-ime. 

A wandering harper, scorned and poor. 

He begged his bread from door to doer; 

And tuned, to please a peasant's ear, 

Tbf iiurp. a King had loved to iiear. 



4 INTRODUCTION. 

He passed Tvliere Newark's stately to'wei 
Looks out from Yarrow's bircben bower: 
The Minstrel gazed with wishful eye — 
No humbler resting place was nigh, 
With hesitating step, at last, 
Tlie embattled portal-arch he passed, 
Whose ponderous grate, and massy bar, 
Had oft rolled back the tide of war, 
But never closed the iron door 
Against the desolate and poor. 
The Duchess* marked his wear)' pace, 
His timid mien, and reverend face, 
And bade her page the menials tell. 
That they should tend the old man well ; 
For she had knov/n adversity. 
Though born in such a high degree; 
In pride of power, iu beauty's bloom, 
Had wept o'er Monmouth's bloody tomb. 

When kindness had his wants suppliod. 
And the old man was gratified. 
Began to rise his minstrel pride : 
And he began to talk anon, 
Of good Earl Francisf, dead and cons. 
And of Earl Walter.^, rest him (iod I 
A braver ne'er to battle rode : 
And how full many a tale he knew, 
Of the old warriors of Buccleuch ; 
And, would the noble Duchess deign 
To listen to an old man's strain. 
Though stiff his hand, his voice though Aveak 
He thought even yet, the sooth to speak, 
That, if she loved the harp to hear. 
He could make music to her ear. 

The humble boon was soon obtained ; 
Tlie Aged INIinstrel audience gained. 

♦ Aune, Duchess of Buccleuch and ^^<)I)ml)lIth, representatrvi 
•f the ancient lords of Buccleuch, and \vi.i.)u- of the in\fort« 
a&te James, Duke of Monmouth, who was hcin- '.leil in ieSS. 

+ Francis Scott, Karl of Buccleuch, father t tl.- (Iiiche>«. 

t Walter, Earl of Buccleuch, grandfather to rhi- dtichesst, anrl a 
selfbrated warrior. 



:ntroduct.'on. 

But, when lie reached the room of state. 

Where she, with all her ladies, sate, 

Perchance he wished his hoou denied ; 

For, when to tune his ^larp he tried, 

His trembling hand had lost the ease 

Which marks security to please ; 

And scenes, long past, of joy and pain, 

Came wildering o'er his aged brain — 

He tried to tune his harp in vain. 

The pitying Duchess praised its chime. 

And gave him heart, and gave him time, 

Till every string's according glee 

Was blended into harmony. 

And then, he said, he would full fain 

He could recall an ancient strain, 

He never thought to sing again. 

It was not framed for village churles. 

But for high dames and mighty earls ; 

He had played it to King Charles tlw (iood 

When he kept court at Holyrood ; 

And much he wished, yet feared, to try 

The long forgotten melody. 

Amid the strings his fingers strayed. 
And an uncertain warbling made, 
And oft he shook his hoary head. 
But when he caught the measure wild. 
The old man raised his face, and smiled , 
And lightened up his faded eye, 
With all a poet's ecstasy! 
In varj'ing cadence, soft or strong, 
He swept the sounding chords along : 
The present scene, tlie futun^ lot, 
His toils, his wants, were all forgot: 
Cold ditlidenije, and age's frost, 
In the full tide of song ^■ere lost; 
Elach blank, in faitliiess memoiy void, 
The poet's glowing thought supplied; 
And, while his harp responsive rung, 
'Twas thus the Latest Mlnstrel sung 



LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



CANTO FIRST. 



1. ^ 

The feast was over in Branksome tower,* 

And the Ladye had gone to her secret bower; 

Her bower, that was yarded by word and by spell. 

Deadly to hear, and deadly to tell — 

Jesu Maria, shield us well! 

No living wight, save the Ladye alone, 

Had dared to cross the threshold stone. 



l"he tables were draAvn, it was idlesse all ; 

Knight, and page, and household squire, 
Loitered through the lofty hall. 

Or crowded round the ample fire. 
The stag-hounds, weary with the chase. 

Lay stretched upon the rushy floor, 



* In the reign of Jamesi L Sir William Scott, of Buo-.-lenchi, 
chief of the clan bearing that name, exchaniired. with Sir Tho- 
mas Inglis of Manor, the estate of Murdiestone. in Lanarkshire, 
for one-half of the barony of Branksome, or Dranxliolin. lying 
upon the Teviot, nbout three miles above Hawick : after which 
Branksome became the princip.-\l seat of the Bucck-ucii family, 
while security was any object in their choice of a mausitm. 

The extent of the ancient edifice can still be traced by Rome 
Testiges of its foundation, and its strength is obvious from the 
rituatiou, on a deep bauk surrounded by the Teviot, aiid flanked 
^\ a deep ravine, formed by a iRecipitous brook. 



CANIO I.] LA-Y OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 7 

And urged, in dreams, the forest race, 
From Teviot-stone to Eskdale-moor. 

III. 

Nine-and-twenty knights of fame 

Hung their shields in Branksome Hall;* 
Nine-and-twenty squires of name 

Brought them their steeds from bower to stall; 
Nine-and-twenty yeomen tall 
Waited, duteous, on them all : 
They were all knights of mettle true. 
Kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch, 

IV 

Teu of them were sheathed in steel, 
With belted sword, and spur on hee! : 
They quitted not their harness bright. 
Neither by day, nor yet by night : 

They lay down to rest 

With corslet laced, 
Pillowed on buckler cold and hard; 

They carved at the meal 

With gloves of steel, [barred, 

And they drank the red wine througli the bfelmet 

V. 

Ten squires, teu 3-eomen, mail-clad men, 
Waited the beck of the warders ten ; 
Thirty steeds, both fleet and wight, 
Stood saddled in stable day and night. 
Barbed with frontlet of steel, I trow, 
And with Jed wood-axe at saddle bow;'1' 
A hundred more fed free in stall : — 
Such was the custom of Branksome Hall. 



* The awcient barons of Baccletirh, retained in tli.;ir lionseuold, 
at Branksome, a number of gentlemen of their own i:;\:ii<s who 
held lands from their chief for the military servic- ot watnhing 
aiiJ warding his castle. Sutchells gives us'the n.iiries iif twenty- 
foui gentlemen, younger brothers of ancient families, vvho -were 
pensioners to the house of Buccleuch, and describe-; lUe lands 
which each possessed for his border service. In time of war 
with England, the garrison was doubtless augmented. 

+ The Jedwood axe waa a sort of nartizau or halbert, used by 
borsemeii. It is aUo called a Jedwood or Jgddart staff. 



8 LAY OP- THR 



CCANltS I 



Tl. 

Why do these steeds stand ready dight? 
Why watch these warriors, armed, by night? 
Tbey watch, to hear the blood-hound baying ; 
They watch, to hear the war-horn braying; 
To see St George's red cross streaming, 
To see the midnight beacon gleaming; 

They watch, against Southern force and guiie^ 
Lest Scroop, or Howard, or Percy's powers. 
Threaten Branksome's lordly towers. 
From Warkworth, or Naworth, or merry Carlide.* 



Such is the custom of Branksomo-Hall, — 

Many a valiant knight is here ; 
But he, the Chieftain of them all. 
His sword hangs rusting on the wall. 

Beside his broken spear. 
Bards long shall tell, 
How lord Walter fell If 
AVhen staritled burghers fled, afar, 
The furies of the Border war ; 
When the streets of high DunedinlJ: 
Saw lances gleam, and falchions redden. 
And heard the slogan''s§ deadly yell-^ 
Then the Chief of Branksome fell. 

VIII.^ 

Can piety the discord heal, 

Or stanch the death-feud's enmity? 
Can Christian lore, can patriot zeal, 
""Oan love of blessed charity ? 

* Branksome Castle was continually exposed to the attacks o< 
the EngUsh, both from its sittiatiou and the restless military di»- 
position of its mhabitants, who were seldom on good terms with 
their ueiirhbours. 

+ Sir Walter Scott, of Buccleuch, succeeded to his grandfather. 
Sir David, in 1192. He was a brave and powerful liaron. and 
warden of the west marches of Scotland ; and was slain by th« 
Kerrs in the streets of Edinburgh, in 1552. This is the event 
alluded to in Stanza VII.; and the poem is supposed to open 
ihortly af'.er it had taken place. 

J EdinbTirgh. 

§ The war-cry, or gathering word, of a Border elaiib 



CANTO 1-3 LAST MINSTREL. V 

No 1 vainly to each lioly shrine, 

In mutual pilgrimage, they drew ;* 
Implored, in vain, the grace di\-ine 

For chiefs, their own red falchions slew; 
WTiile Cessford owns the nile of Car,'f' 

While Ettrick hoasts the line of Scott, 
The slautihtered chiefs, the mortal jar, 

The ha"oc of the feudal war, 
Slmll never, never he forgot ! 

IX. 

In sorrow, o'er Jord Walter's bier 
The warlike foresters had bent; 
And man} a flower, and many a tear. 

Old Te\ lot's maids and matrons lent: 
But o'er hjr warrior's bloody bier 
The Ladyc dropped nor Hower nor tear! 
Vengearce, deep-brooding o'er the slain. 
Had licked the source of softer woe; 
And burning pride, and high disdain, 

Forbade the rising tear to flow; 
Until, ainid his sorrowing clan. 

Her S3n lisped from the nurse's knee — 
" And, if I live to be a man, 

" My father's death revenged shall be !" 
Then fast the mother's tears did seek 
To dew the infant's kindling cheek. 

X. 

All loose her negligent attire, 

All loose her golden hair, 
Hung Margaret o'er her slaughtered sire, 

And wept in wild despair. 

* AMong other expedients resorted to^r stanching ti.* feud 
betwixt the Scotts and the Kerrs, therWras a bond executed, 
in 1529, between the heads of each clan, binding theraselTes to 
perfurm reciprocally the four principal pilgrimagres of Scotland, 
for the benefit of the souls of those of the oppgsite name who 
had fallen in the quarrel. Such pactions were not uncommon 
in ffudal times ; but they were often, as iu the present case, void 
of the desired effect. 

+ The ramllv of Ker, Kerr, or Car, was very powerful on 
the Border. Fynes Morrison remarks, in his Travel.s, that their 
influtnse e.ttended from the rillaire of Preston Grange, in Lothian, 
to the limits of England. The Duke of Roxburghe represents Ket 
of Cetsfoi-d. 

a2 



10 LAY OP THE rCANTC 

But uot aloue the bitter teax 

Had filial grief supplied ; 
For hopeless love, and anxious fear. 

Had lent their mingled tide : 
Nor in her mother s altered eye 
Dared she to look for SAinpathy. 
Her lover, 'gainst her fatlier s clan. 

With Car in arms had stood, 
When Mathouse-burn to Melrose ran, 

All purple with their blood. 
And well she knew, her mother dread, 
Before lord Cranstoun she should wed,* 
Would see her on her dying bed. 

XI. 

Of noble race the Ladye came ; 
Her father was a clerk of fame, 

Of Bethune's line of Picardie :+ 
He learned the art, that none may namo, 

In Padua, far beyond the sea.lj: 
Men said, he changed his mortal framo 

By feat of magic mystery; 
For when, in studious mood, he paced 

St Andrew's cloistered hall. 
His form no darkening shadow traced 

Upon the sunny wall !§ 

* The Cranstouns, Lord Cranstoun, are an ancient Bor(!ei 
foinily, -whose chief seat was at Ciailing in Teviotdale. Tkey 
were at this time at feud with the clan of Scott; for it appears 
that the Tiady of Buorleuch, in 1557, beset the laird of Cranstouu, 
aeeking his Ijfn. Nevertlieless. the same Cranstoun, or perhaps hi* 
son, was married to a daujrhter of the same lady. 

■I The Bethnnes were oT French origin, and' the name was ac- 
counted among; the most noble in France. The family of Bethi.Jie, 
or Beatoun, inVife, produced t)iree learned and (tiguified prelates; 
find from it was descended Dame Janet Beaton. Lady Buccleiirh, 
iridow of Sir Walt^tcott of Branksome. She was' a \yman or 
masculine spirit, a^^possessed tlie hereditary abilities of lie* 
Ikmily in such a degree, that the supt»rstitioa of the vulgar im- 
puted them to supernatural knowledge. 

J Padua w<^p long supposed by the Scottish peasants to be tiM 
principal school of necromancy. 

f The vulgar conceive, that when a class of studentx have amde 
a certain progress in their mystic studies, thev are obligea to run 
through a subterraneous hall, where the devil literally catches the 
bindmnait in the race, unless he crosses the hall so speedily, thttk 
the arch enemv can only apprehend his shadow Those, v.-li» 
bt'.re ttauii lost iheir shadow. aM^^ti"- i^^^v- -h" v-o-' ').'..-;, i:,,,^ 



CANTO 13 LAST MINSTREL. 11 



And of liis skill, as bards avow, 

He taught that Ladye fair. 
Till to her bidding she coiild bow 

The viewless forms of air.* 
And now she sits in secret bower, 
In old Lord David's western tower. 
And listens to a heavy sound. 
That moans the mossy turrets round. 
Is it the roar of Teviot's tide, 
That chafes against the scaur' 5+ red side ? 
Is it the vdnd that swings the oaks? 
Is it the echo from the rocks ? 
What may it be, the hea^'y sound. 
That moans old Branksome's turrets round P 



At the sullen, moaning sound, 
The ban-dogs bay and howl; 
And, from the turrets round, 
Loud whoops the startled owl. 
In the hall, both squire and knight 
Swore that a storm was near. 
And looked forth to view the night; 
J3ut the night was still and clear ! 



Prom the sound of Teviot's tide. 
Chafing Avith the mountain's side, 
Prom the groan of the wind-swung oak. 
From the sullen echo of the rock, 
From the voice of the coming storm. 

The Ladye knew it well ! 
ft was the Spirit of the Flood that spoke. 

And he called on the Spirit of the Fell 



* The Scottish vulgar, believe in the existence of spiriti residing 
in the air, or in the waters, to whose agency they ascribe floods, 
»torms, and tempests. The introduction of the River and Moui> 
tain Spirits therefore accords with the general tone of the roounce 
and the superstitions of the country where the scene ia laid, 
+ Scaur, a precipitoiia bank of estrth. 



12 LAY OF THE [CANTO I 

XV. 

River Spibix. 

" Sleepestthou, brother ?" 

Mountain Spirit. 

"■ Brother, nay— 

On my hills the moon-bearas play 
From Craik- cross to Skeli'hill-pen, 
By every rill, in ever}' glen, 

Merry elves their morrice pacing, 

To aerial minstrelsy, 
Emerald rings on bro^vn heath tracings 
Trip it deft and merrily. 
Up, and mark their nimble feet ! 
Up, and list their music sweet !" 

XVI, 

River Spirit. 
"Tears of an imprisoned maiden 

Mix with my polluted stream ; 
Margaret of Branksome, sorrow- laden, 

Mourns beneath the moon's pale beam. 
Tell me, thou, who view est the stars, 
When shall cease these feudal jars ? 
What shall be the maiden's fate ? 
Who shall be the maiden's mate ?" 

XVII. 

Mountain Spirit. 
" Arthur's sIoav wain his course doth roll, 
In utter darkness, round the pole ; 
The Northern Bear lowers black and grim ^ 
Orion's studded belt is dim ; 
Twinkling faint, and distant far, 
Shimmers through mist each planet star; 

111 may I read their high decree : 
But no kind influence deign they shower 
On Teviot's tide, and Branksome's tower. 

Till pride be quelled, and love bo free.*' 

XVIII. 
The unearthly voices ceast. 

And the hea\'y sound was still ; 



C.XSTOLj LAST MiNSTIiEI^ 13 

Ct died on the river's breast, 

It died on the side of the hill. — 
But round Lord David's tower 

The sound still floated near ; 
For it rung in the Ladye's bower, 

And it rung in the Ladye's ear. 
She raised her stately head, 

And her heart throbbed high with pride :— 
" Your mountains shall bend, 
And your streams ascend, 

Ere Margaret be our foeman's bride T' 

XIX. 

The Ladye sought the lofty hall. 

Where many a bold retainer lay. 
And, with jocund din, among them all, 

Her son pursued his infant play. 
A fancied moss-trooper, the boy* 

The truncheon of a spear bestrode, 
And round the hall, right merrily. 

In mimic foray rode. 
Even bearded knights, in arms grown old, 

Share in his frolic gambols bore. 
Albeit their hearts, of ragged mould, 
Were stubborn as the steel they wore. 
For the gray warriors prophesied. 

How the brave boy, in future war. 
Should tame the Unicorn's pride. 

Exalt the Crescents and the Star.*)* 

XX, 

The Ladye forgot her, purpose high, 

One moment, and no more ; 
One moment g-azed with a mother's eye, 

As she paused at the arched door : 

* Moss-trooper was the usual appellation of the marauders upon 
the Border ; a profession diligently pursued by the inhabitants 
on both sides, and by none more actively and successfully than by 
Buccleueh's clan. Their predatory inroads were termed fnraj/s, 

+ The arms of the Kerrs of Cessford ■ were, Veit on a clU- 
veron, betwixt three unicorns' heads erased argent, three raoUeta 
sahle. Crest, an unicorn's head erased proper. The Scotts oi 
Bnccleuch bore. Or on a bend azure ; a star of six points' tetwixt 
1 wii creacunt"! of the first. 



14 LAY OF THE [CANTO I 

Then, from amid the armed train. 

She called to her William of Deloraine.* 

XXI. 

A stark moss-trooping Scott was he, 

As e'er couched border lance by knee : 

Through Sohvay sands, through Tarraa moss, 

Blindfold, he knew the paths to cross ; 

By wily turns, by desperate bounds, 

Had baffled Pei'cy's best blood-hounds ;-t" 

In Eske, or Liddel, fords were none, 

But he would rivle them, one by one ; 

ALke to him was time or tide, 

December's snow, or July's pride : _^ 

Alike to him Avas tide, or time. 

Moonless midnight, or matin prime : 

Steady of heart, and stout of hand, 

As ever drove prey from Cumberland; 

Five times outlawed had he been, 

By England's king and Scotland's quecQ. 

XXII. 
" Sir William ofDeloraine, good at nosd. 
Mount thee on the wightest steed ; 
Spare not to spur, nor stint to ride, 
Until thou come to fair Tweedside; 
And in Melrose's holy pile 
Seek thou the Monk of St Mary's aisle. 

Greet the father well from me; 
Say, that the fated hour is come. 

And to-night he shall watch with thee. 
To win the treasure of the tomb : 
For this will be St Michael's night. 
And, though stars be dim, the moon is brigLt; 
A-nd the Cross, of bloody red. 
Will point to the grave of the mighty dead. 



* The lands of Deloraine in Ettrioke Forest, were 
fially possessp(i by the Bviccleuch family, and were occasioiUiUy 
^rante.i by tliem to vassals or kinsmen, for Border-service. 

+ The kings and heroes of Scotland, as well as the Border- 
riders, were sonieliints oblised to study how to evade the pursuit 
of blood-hounds. A sure way of stopping the dogr was to cross 4 
brook, or river, or to spiil blood upon the track, which destroyed 
the disoriininatius tintmess of his stem. 



CANTO I.] LASX MINSTREL. l3 

XXIII. 

" What he gives thee, see thou keep; 
Stay not thou for food or sleep : 
Be it scroll, or be it book. 
Into it, knight, thou must not look; 
If thou readest, thou art lorn ! 
Better had'st thou ne'er been born." 

XXIV. 

" O swiftly can speed my dapple-gray steed; 

Which drinks of the Teviot clear; 
Ere break of day," the warrior 'gan say, 

" Again will I be here : 
And safer by none may thy errand be done, 

Than, noble dame, by me ; 
Letter nor line know I never a one, 

Wer't my neck-verse at Hairibee."* 



Soon in his saddle sate he fast, 
And soon the steep descent he past, 
Soon crossed the soundisg barbican,"!* 
And soon the Teviot side he won. 
Eastward the wooded path he rode; 
Green hazels o'er his basnet nod : 
He passed the Peel J of Goldiland, 
And crossed old Berth wick's roaring strand; 
Dimly he viewed the Moat-hill's mound.§ 
Where Druid shades still Hitted round; 
In Hawick twinkled many a light ; 
Behind him soon they set in night; 
And soon he spurred his courser keen 
Beneath the tower of Hazeldean. |1 

* Hairibee, the place of executing the Border marauders a' 
Cavlislfe. The rteck-veise is the begiiiuiiig of the 51st psalin, 
Miserere mei, &c., anciently read bjr criminals, claiming- the beueiit 
i>f clergy. 

•t narbican-, the defence of the outer gate of a feudal castle. 

X Pfely a Border tower. 

§ Tliis is a round artificial mount near Hawick, which, from ita 
name (Mot. ^ng. S-ix. Cnncilium, Convetilus), was probably 
anciently used as a place for assembling a national council of the 
adjacent tribes. 

11 The estate of Hareldfan, rorniptly Hassendean, belonged f«v 
merly to a familj- of Scotts. 



16 



LAYOFXUE V CANTO 



XXVI. 

The clattering lioofs the -svatchmeu mark: — 
" Stand, ho ! thou courier of the dark." 
" For Branksome, ho !" the knight rejoined. 
And left the friendly tower behind. 
He turned him noNv from Teviotside, 

And, guided by the tinkling rill, 
Northward the dark ascent did ride, 

And gained the moor at Horseliehill ; 
Broad on the left before him lay, 
For many a mile, the Roman way.* 

xxvri. 
A moment now he slacked his speed, 
A moment breathed his panting steed; 
Drew saddle-girth and corslet-band. 
And loosened in the sheath his brand. 
On Minto-crags the moon-beams glint, 
Where Barnhill hewed his bed of tlint;+ 
"VVho tlung his outlawed limbs to rest, 
Where falcons hang their giddy nest. 
Mid cliffs, from whence his eagle eve 
For many a league his prey could spy; 
Cliffs, doubling, ou their echoes borne. 
The terrors of the robber's horn; 
Cliffs, which, for many a later year, 
The warbling Doric reed shall hear. 
When some sad swain shall teach *be gi^ove, 
Ambition is uo cure for love. 



Unchallenged, thence past Deloi-aine 
To ancient Riddel's fair domain,^ 

* An ancient Roman road, crossing through part of Roxbargb- 
Khiie. 

+ .\ romantic assemhla°-e of cliffs, which rise suddenly above tb* 
rale of Tevioc .-X small platform, on a projecting crag, cotr.mand- 
injT a most beautiful prospect, is termed Bat')i/iiu''s H^d. Tt.:b 
Baruhili is said to have been a mbber or outlaw. There arf 
remains of a strong tower beneath the rocks, where he issup[<^eJ 
o have dwelt, and ti-om which he derived his name. 

J The family of KiddeU have been very long in possession of the 
barony called RiddeU, or Ryedale, pari of which still bears tte 
I&tter name. The epithet ancient is justified by the tact that tlicil 
chirters .tsccu.1 to live i-eign ot Da\id I. 



17 



CANTO L] I'ASX MINSTREL, 

Where Aill, from mountains freed, 
Do^-n from the lakes did raving come; 
Each wave was crested with ta^vny foam. 

Like the mane of a chestnut steed. 
In vain ! no torrent, deep or broad, 
Might bar the hold moss-trooper's road. 

XXIX. 

At the first plunge the horse sunk low, 

And the water broke o'er the saddle-bow; 

Above the foaming tide, I ween. 

Scarce half the charger's neck was seen; 

For he was barded* from counter to tail, 

And the rider was armed complete in mail; 

Never heavier man and horse 

Stemmed a midnight torrent's force. 

The warrior's very plume, I say, 

Was daggled by the dashing spray; 

yet, through good heart, and our Ladye's grace, 

At length he gained the landing place. 



Now Bowden Moor the march-man won, 

And sternly shook his plumed head, 
As glanced his eye o'er Halidon;+ 

For on his soul the slaughter i\jd 
Of that unhallowed morn arose. 
When first the Scott and Car were foes; 
When royal James beheld the fray, 
Prize to the victor of the day ; 
When Home and Douglas, in the van, 
Bore down Buccleuch's retiring clan. 
Till gallant Cessford's heart-blood dear 
Reeked on dark Elliot's Border spear. 

XXXI. 

In bitter mood he spurred fast, 
And soon the hated heath was past; 

« Barded, or barbed, applied to a borse accoutered witb armour. 
-+ Halidon, near ^f eb-ose, vras an ancient seat of tbe Kerrs of Ccss- 
ford, now demolished. About a quarter of a mile to the nnitlnv:ird 
lay the field of battle betwixt Uuoobfiich and Ang:us, (liiSB) whicli 
u c.iiled to this day the Skirinl.->h held. 



18 LAY OF TilE 



[CAIN TO 



And far beneath, in lustre Avan, 

Old Melros' rose, and fair Tweed ran :* 

Like some tall rock, with lichens gray, 

Seemed, dimly huge, the dark Abbaye. 

When Hawick he passed, had curfew rung. 

Now midnight laudsf were in Melrose sung. 

The sound upon the fitful gale. 

In solemn wise did rise and fail, 

Like that wild harp, whose magic tone 

Is wakened by the winds alone. 

But when Melrose he reached, 'twas silence all; 

He meetly stabled his steed in stall. 

And sought the convent's lonely wall. 



Here paused the harp ; and with its swell 
The Master's fire and courage fell : 
Dejectedly, and low, he bowed, 
And, gazing timid on the crowd. 
He seemed to seek, in every eye, 
If they approved his minstrelsy; 
And, diffident of present praise. 
Somewhat he spoke of former days. 
And how old age, and wandering long, 
Had done his hand and harp some wrong. 

The Duchess, and her daughters fair, 
And ever}' gentle ladye there. 
Each after each, in due degree, 
Gave praises to his melody; 
His hand was true, his voice was clear, 
And much they longed the rest to hear. 
Encouraged thus, the Aged Man, 
After meet rest, again begaia. 

* The monastery of Melrose, founded by King David I., is th« 
finest specimen of Gothic architecture, and Gothic sculpture, which 
Scotland can boast. The stone of which it is built, retails perfect 
sharpness, mi that evtn the most minute ornaments seen, as entira 
as when newly wronstht. In some of the cloisters, there are le- 
presentati<ms of flowers, vegetables, fee, carved in stone, with 
accuracy and precision si? delicate, that we almost distrust our 
senses, when we consider the difficulty of subjecting so hard a 
substance to such intricate and exquisite modulation. 

+ Lauds, the midnight ser'.-ice of the Catholic church. 



LASI MINSTREL. 



CANTO SECOND. 



19 



If tbou -would' st view fair Melrose aright, 

Go visit it by the pale moonliglit; 

For the gay "beams of lightsome day 

Grild, but to flout, the ruins gray. 

When the broken arches are black in night. 

And each shafted oriel glimmers "white ; 

When the cold light's uncertain shower 

Streams on the ruined central tower; 

When buttress and buttress, alternately, 

Seem framed of ebon and ivory, 

When silver edges the imager}'. 

And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die;* 

When distant Tweed is heard to rave, 

And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave, 

Then go — but go alone the while — 

Then view St David's ruined pile:+ 

And, home returning, soothly swear, 

Was never scene so sad and fair! 

II. 

Short halt did Deloraine make there; 
Little recked he of the scene so fair. 
With dagger's hilt, on the wicket strong, 
He struck full loud, and struck full long. 
The porter hurried to the gate — 
"Who knocks so loud, and knocks so late."*' 
" From Branksome I," the warrior cried; 
And strait the wicket opened wide : 

For Branksome's chiefs had in battle stood, 
To fence the rights of fair ^Melrose ; 



* The buttresses of the ruins of Melrose, are richly carved aiid 
fretted, containing niches for the statues of saints, and labelled willl 
scrolls, bearing appropriate texts of Scripture. Most of these sta- 
toes have been demolished. 

+ Da^-id the first of Scotland, who was sainted for his liberality 
in founding and endowing AMir.se, ami other nii>ii,\st>-rit;'s 



20 



LAY OF THE LC.iNTO H 



And lands and livings, many a rood, 

Had gifted the shrine for their souls' repose.* 

III. 

Bold Deloraine his errand said; 
The porter bent his humble head; 
With torch in hand, and feet unshod, 
And noiseless step, the path he trod; 
The arched cloisters, far and wide. 
Rang to the warrior's clanking stride; 
Till, stooping low his lofty crest. 
He entered the cell of the ancient priest, 
And lifted his barred aventayle,t 
To hail the Monk of St iVIary's aisle, 

IV. 

" The Ladye of Branksome greets thee by me; 

Says, that the fated hour is come, 
And that to-night I shall watch with thee, 

To win the treasure of the tomb." 
From sackcloth couch the Monk arose. 

With toil his stiffened limbs he reared; 
A hundred years had Hung their snows 

On his thin locks and Hoating beard. 

V. 

And strangely on the Knight looked he, 

And his blue eyes gleamed wild and wide;— 
" And, dar'st tbou, warrior! seek to see 

What heaven and hell alike would hide? 
My breast, in belt of iron pent, 

AVith shirt of hair and scourge of thorn; 
For threescore years, in penance spent, 

My knees those ilinty stones have wora; 
Vet all too little to atone 
For knowing what should ne'er be known. 

AN'ould'st thou thy eveiy future year 
In ceaseless prayer and peiiaace drie. 

Yet wait thy latter end with fear — 
Then, daring warrior, follow me !" 

* The Buccleuch fainilv wene erreal benefactors to tho obbav 
M€ljc>,e. 
•♦ ^ve7ifrty!e, visfir of rlif 'i .inct 




Gti Msil it iiA- th ( - pBlo iiuunili^t; 
for the ^.\\ bccnriH of lirfklKome duy 
Gild.lraA to Ihjni. Oxo rums i^rav. 



CANTO IL] LAST MINSTREL. 21 

VI. 

" Penance, father, Tvill I none; 

Prayer know I hardly one; 

For mass or prayer can I rarely tarry, 

Save to patter an Ave Mary, 

When 1 ride on a Boi'der foray:* 

Other prayer can I none; 

So speed me my errand, and let me hegone," 



Again on the Knight looked the Churchman old. 

And again he sighed heavily; 
For he had himself been a warrior bold, 

And fought in Spain and Italy. 
And he thought on the days that were long since by, 
When his limbs were strong, and his courage was 
Now, slow and faint, he led the way, [high : — 

Where, cloistered round, the garden lay; 

The pillared arches were over their head, 
And beneath their feet were the bones of the dead.+ 



Spreading herbs, and flowerets bright, 
Glistened with the dew of night; 
Nor herb, nor floweret, glistened there. 
But was carved in the cloister-arches as fair. 
The Monk gazed long on the lovely moon 

Then into the night he looked forth; 
And red and bright the streamers light 
Were dancing in the glowing north. 
So had he seen, in fair Castile, 

The youth in glittering squadrons start; 
Suddenly the flying jennet wheel. 
And hurl the unexpected dai-t.^I 



» The Borderers were very ignorant about religious matters 
But however deficient in real relisjion, they regularly told tlieir 
beads, and never with more zeal than when going on a pluiideiiug 
expedition. 

+ The cloisters were frequently used as plaoes of sepulchre. 

j The warlike pastime of throwing the jeneed, has prevailed ill 
• he east from time immemorial, and was imitated in the militaty 
eaoie called Jucgo de las cavina, wtich the Spaniards borrowed 
urom their Mooi Ish invaders. 



22 LAY OF THE 



tCANTO I& 



He knew, by the streamers thAt shot so bright, 
That spirits were riding the northern light. 

IX, 

By a steel-clenched postern door, 

They entered now the chancel tall; 
The darkened roof rose high aloof 

On pillars, lofty, and light, and small; 
The key-stone, that locked each ribbed aisle. 
Was a lleux-de-lys, or a quatre-feuille ; 
The corbells* were carved grotesque and grim; 
And the pillars, with clustered shafts so trim. 
With base and with capital nourished around, 
Seemed bundles of lances which garlands had boond. 



Full many a scutcheon and banner, riven, 
Shook to the cold night- wind of heaven, 

Around the screened altar's pale; 
And tlieie the dying lamps did burn 
Before thy low and lonely urn, 
O gallant Chief of Otterburne,-)- 

And thine, dark Knight of Liddesdale!; 
O fading honours of the dead! 
O high ambition, lowly laid ! • 

XI. 

The moon on the east oriel shone,§ 
Through slender sliafts of shapely stone, 



* CorbetlB, the projections from which these arches spring 
usually cut iu a fantastic iace, or mask. 

+ The fjunous aud desperate battle of Otterburne was foug-hi 
loth August, 138s, betwixt Hemy Percy, called Hot<pui. au* 
James Earl of Douglas. The Scots won the day, dearly purchaser 
by the death of their gallant geueial, the Earl of Douglas, v, ho waa 
slain in the ac.iou. He was buried at Melrose beneath the higti 
altar. 

i William Douglas, called the knight of Liddesdale. flourished 
during the reign i>'" David II. ; and was so distinguished by his 
valour, that he was called the Klower of Chivalry. He w.is slaiu 
while hunting in Ettrick. Forest, by his own godson and chieftain, 
William Earl of Douglas, aud was interred, with great pomp in 
Meirose abbey, where his tomb is still shown. 

§ It is impossible to conceive a more beautiful specimen nt 
Gothic architecture, in its parity, than the eastern window of 
MaLro*.- abbey. Pir Jamns H.ill, h;is tia.-..-.! the (ii.tlm- nrdef 



CANTO U.] 



LAST HINSTREL. 23 



By foliaged tracery combined; 
Tliou would' st have thought some fairj'-'s hand, 
'Twixt poplars straight, the osier wand, 

In many a freakish knot, had twined; 
Then framed a spell, when the work was done. 
And changed ths willow-wreaths to stone. 

The silver light, so pale and faint. 

Showed many a prophet, and many a saint. 
Whose image on the glass was dyed; 

Full in the midst, his Cross of Red 

Triumphant Michael brandished, 
And trampled the Apostate's pride. 
The moon-beam kissed the holy pane, 
And threw on the pavement a bloody stain. 

XII. 
They sate them down on a marble stone, 

A Scottish monarch slept below;* 
Thus spoke the Monk, in solemn tone : — 

" I was not always a man of woe; 
For Paynira countries I have trod. 
And fought beneath the Cross of God; 
Now, strange to my eyes thine arms appear, 
And their iron clang sounds strange to my ear* 

XIII. 
"■ In these far climes, it was my lot 
To meet the wondrous Michael Scott ;+ 

A wizard of such dreaded fame, 
That when, in Salamanca's cave,:Jl 

through it3 various forms, and seemingly eccentric omamentei 
to au architectural imitation of %vicker-work; and this ingenious 
jysteui is alluded to in the romance. 

* A large marble stone, in the chancel of Melrose, is pouited ont 
as the mi«uumeut of Alexander II. 

+ Sir Michael Scott of Balwearie flourished during the 13th cen- 
tury; but by a poetical anachronism, he is here pi iced in a later 
*ra. He was a man of much learning, cliiefly acquired in foreign 
coimtries, and he passed among his contemporaries for a skilful 
magician. Dempster informs us, that he remembers to have heard 
m his youth, that the magic books of Michael Scott were still in 
existence, but could not be opened mthout danger, on account 
of the tiends who were thereby invoked. 

X Spain, from the reliques, doubtless, of Arabian learning and 
superstition, was accounted a favourite residence of maaicians. 
There were public schools, where maigic, or rather the sciencee 
•supposed t.i involve its mvBteries, were regularly taught.at Toleda 



34 LAY OF THE 



[CANTf» II. 



Him listed his magic ■wand to wave. 
The bells would ring in Notre Dame! 

Some of his skill he taught to me ; 

And, Warrior, I could say to thee 

The words, that cleft Eildon hills in three, 
And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone:* 

But to speak them were a deadly sin; 

And for having but thought them my heart withiii, 
A treble penance must be done. 

XIV. 

"When Michael lay on his dying bed, 

His conscience was awakened; 

He bethought Lim oi his sinful deed. 

And he gave me a sign to come with speed : 

I was in Spain when the morning rose, 

But I stood by his bed ere evening close. 

The words may not again be said, 

That he spoke to me, on death-bed laid; 

They would rend this Abbaye's massy nave, 

And pile it in heaps above his gi-ave. 

XV. 

" I swore to bury his Mighty Book, 

That never mortal might therein look; 

And never to tell where it was hid, 

Save at his chief of Branksome's need; 

And when that need was past and o'er, 

Again the volume to restore. 

I buried him on St Michael's night, 

When the l)ell tolled one, and the moon was brighi 

And I dug his chamber among the dead, 

When the floor of the chancel was stained red, 

Seville, and Salamanca. In the latter city, they were held in a. 
deep cavern ; the rnoiuh of which was walled up by Queen Isabella, 
wile of Km? Ferdinand. 

* Michael Scott was much embarrassed by a spirit, for whom he 
was under the necessity of finding- constant employment. He 
commanded him to build a cauld, or dam-head, across' the Tweed 
at Kelso : ii was accomplislied in one nig-ht. Michael next ordered, 
that Eildon hill, which was then a uniform cone, should be divided 
into three. Another nl^ht was sufficient to part its suminit into 
three picturesque peaks. Ai lenofih the enchanter conquered this 
inderati"-ablc daemon, by ernployino;' him in malting ropes out of 
(ea-sand. 



CANTO no LAST AUNSillEL. 25 

That his patron's Cross might over him wave, 
And scare the fiends from the Wizard's grave. 

XVI.- 
■' It was a night of woe and dread, 
When Michael in the tomb I laid; .r 

Strange sounds along the chancel past, 
The banners waved witliout a blast," — 
Still spoke the Monk, when the bell tolled one!— 
I tell vou. that a braver man 
Than "William of Deloraine, good at need. 
Against a foe ne'er spurred a steed; » 

Yet somewhat was he chilled with dread. 
And his hair did bristle upon his head. 



"Lo, Warrior! now, the Cross of Red 

Points to the grave of the mighty dead ' 

Within it burns a wondrous light. 

To chase the spirits that love the night: 

That lamp shall burn unquenchably, 

Until the eternal doom shall be."* 

Slow moved the Monk to the broad flag-stone, 

Which the bloody Cross was traced upon: 

He pointed to a secret nook; 

An iron bar the warrior took; 

And the Monk made a sign, with his withered hand, 

The grave's huge portal to expand. 

XVIII. 
With beating heart to the task he went;. 
His sine\sw frame o'er the grave-stone bent; 
_With bar of iron heaved amain. 
Till the toil-drops fell from his brows, like rain. 
It was by dint of passing strength, 
That he moved the massy stone at length. 
I would you had been there, to see 
How the light broke forth so gloriously, 



• Baptista Porta, and other authors who treat of natural ma^i:, 

talk much of eternal lamps, pretended to have been found burnuig 

in ancient sepulchres. One of these pi^ipetiial lamps is said to haro 

been discovered ia the tomb oi Tulliola, the daughter of Cicero. 

B 



26 LAY OP THE CCANTO U 

Streamed upward to the chancel roof, 
And through the galleries far aloof! 
No earthly flame blazed e'er so bright: 
It shone like heaven's own blessed light; 

And, issuing from the tomb, 
Showed the Monk's cowl, and visage pale. 
Danced on the dark-brow'd AVarrior's mail. 
And kissed his waving plume. 



Before their eyes the Wizard lay, 
As if he had not been dead a day. 
His hoary beard in silver rolled. 
He seemed some seventy winters old; 

A palmer's amice wrapped him round. 

With a wrought Spanish baldric bound. 
Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea: 

His left hand held his Book of Might; 

A silver cross was in his right ; 

The lamp was placed beside his knee: 
High and majestic was his look. 
At which the fellest fiends had shook. 
And all unruffled was his face : — 
They trusted his soul had gotten grace. 



Often had William of Deloraine 
Rode t'nrough the battle's bloody plain, 
'And trampled down the warriors slain, 

And neither kno-svn remorse or awe; 
Yet noAv rercforse and awe he o^^^l'd; 
His breath came thick, his head swam round. 

When this strange scene of death he saw. . 
Bewildered and unnerved he stood. 
And the priest prayed fervently, and loud : 
With eyes averted prayed he; 
He might not endure the sight to see. 
Of the man he had loved so brotherly. 



And when the Priest his death-prayer had prayed 
Thu:. imto Deloraine he said: — 



CANTO n. I LAST Ml^S.^JliiJ.. 2? 

" Now speed thee what thou hast to do, 

Or, Warrior, we may dearly rue; 

For those, thou inayest not look upon, 

Are gathering fast round the yawning stone !" 

Then Deloraine, in terror, took 

From the cold hand the Mighty Book, 

With iron clasped, and with iron bound: 

He thought, as he took it, the dead man frowiied ; 

But the glare of the sepulchral light, 

Perchance, had dazzled the warrior's sight. 

XSII. 

When the huge stone sunk o'er the tomb. 

The night returned, in double gloom ; 

For the moon had gone down, and the stars were few; 

And, as the Knight and Priest withdrew, 

With wavering steps and dizzy brain, 

They hardly might the postern gain. 

'Tis said, as through the aisles they passed, 

They heard strange noises on the blast ; 

And through the cloister-galleries small, 

Which at mid-height thread the chancel wall, 

liOud sobs, and laughter louder, ran, 

And voices unlike the voice of man ; 

As if the fiends kept holiday. 

Because these spells were brought to day. 

I cannot tell how the truth ma}^ be ; 

I say the tale as 'twas said to me. 



" Now, hie thee hence," the Father said, 
" And, when we are on death-bed laid, 
O may our dear Ladye, and sweet St John, 
Forgive our souls for the deed we have done !** 

The monk returned him to his cell. 
And many a prayer and penance sped ; 

When the convent met at the noontide b*^U — 
The Monk of St Marj^'s aisle was deau I 
Before the cross was the body laid. 
With hands clasped fast, as if still he prayed. 



a© LAY OF THE [ CANTO IL 

XXIV. 
The Knight hreathed free in the morning wind. 
And strove his hardihood to tind : 
He was glad wlien he passed the tombstones gray, 
Which girdle round the fair Abbaye; 
For the mystic Book, to his bosom prest, 
Felt like a load upon his breast ; 
And his joints, with nerves of iron twined, 
Shook, like the aspen leaves in wind. 
Full fain was he when the' dawn of day 
Began to brighten Cheviot gray ; 
He joyed to see the cheerful light, 
And he said Ave Mary, as well as he might. 

XXV. 

The sun had brightened Cheviot gray, 

The sun had brightened the Carter's* side; 
And soon beneath the rising day 

Smiled Branksome towers and Teviot's tide. 
The wild birds told their warbling tale, 

And wakened every Hower that blows; 
And peeped forth the violet pale. 

And spread her breast the mountain rose; 
And lovelier than the rose so red, 

Yet paler than the violet pale, 
She early left her sleepless bed, 

The fairest maid of Teviotdale. 

XXVI. 

WTiy does fair Margaret so early awake. 

And don her kirtle so hastilie ; 
And the silken knots, which in hurry she would mak«v 

Why tremble her slender lingers to tie ; 
Why does she stop, and look often around, 

As she glides down the secret stair ; ^ 

And why does she pat the shaggy blood-hound. 

As he 1 ouses him up from his lair ; 
And, though she passes the postern alone. 
Why is not the watchman's bugle-blown ? 

* A luountsun un the Border nf Eng'iaiid, above Jedburgh. 



LAST MINSTBEU -9 



Tlie ladye steps in douLt and dread, 

Lest her watchful mother hear her tread ; 

The lady caresses the rough blood-hound, 

Lest his voice should waken the castle round ; 

The watchman's bugle is not blown. 

For he was her foster-father's son ; 

Andshe glides through the greenwoodat da-wn of light, 

To meet Baron Heur}', her ovnx true knight. 

XXVIII. 

The Knight and Ladye fai ■ are met, 

And under the hawthorn's boughs are s^ 

A fairer pair were never seen 

To meet beneath the hawthorn gi'een. 

He was stately, and young, and tall ; 

Dreaded in battle, and loved in hall : 

And she, when love, scarce told, scarce hid. 

Lent to her cheek a livelier red ; 

When the half sigh her swelling breast 

Against the silken ribband pressed ; 

When her blue eyes their secret told, 

Tliough shaded by her locks of gold — 

Where would you find the peerless fair. 

With Margaret of Branksomf might compare ! 

XXIX. 

And now, fair dames, methinks 1 see 

You listen to my minstrelsy ; 

Your waving locks ye backward thro-w, 

And sidelong bend your necks of snow:— 

Ye ween to hear a melting tale, 

Of two true lovers in a dale ; 

And how the Knight, with tender fire, 

To paint his faithful passion strovo ; 
Swore, he might at her feet expire, ^ 

But never, never cease to love ; * 

And how she blushed, and how shf iighe^ 
And, half consenting, half denied, 
And said that she would die a maid : — 
Vet, niiiflit the bloodv fe^id he stayed. 



30 



CCAirro n 



Henry of Cranstouu, and only he, 
Margaret of Brauksoiue's choice should b«k 



Alas ! fair dames, your hoi^es are vain ! 
My harp has lost the enchanting stx-ain ; 

Its lightness would my age reprove : 
My hairs are gray, my limbs are old. 
My heart is dead, my veins are cold :— 

I may not, must not, sing of love. 



Beneath an oak, mossed o'er by eld. 
The Baron's Dwarf his coui-ser held. 

And held his crested helm and spear : 
Tluat Dwarf was scarcely an earthly man. 
If the t;iles were true, that of him ran 

Through all the Border, far and near. 
' Twas said, when the Baron a hunting rode 
Through Keedsdale's glens, but rarely trod, 

He heard a voice cry, •" Lost ! lost ! lost l" 

And, like teunis-b:dl by raquet tossed, 
A leap, of thirty feet and three. 

Made from the gorso this elfui shape, 

Distorted like softie dwarfish ape. 

And lighted at Lord Cranstoun's knee. 

Lord Cranstoun was some whit dismayed ; 

'Tis said that live good miles he rade. 
To rid him of his company; 
But where he rode one mile, the D'VN-arf ran fott£. 
And the Dwai-f was tirst at the ciistle door. 

XXXII. 

Use lessens marvel, it is said. 

This elvish Dwarf with the Baron staid; 

Little he ate, and less he spoke, • 

Nor mingled with the menial Hock ; 

And oft apart his arms he tossed. 

And often muttere*;!, " Lost ! lost ! lost f* 
He was waspish, arch, and litheilie. 
But well Lord Craustoun serve*! he: 



CANTO a] 



LAST MlNSXHl-J., 31 



And he of his service was full fain ; 
For once he had been ta'en or slain, 
An' it had not been hia ministry. 
All, between Home and Hermitage, 
Talked of Lord Cranstoun's Goblin Page. 

XXXUI. 
For the Baron went on pilgrimage. 
And took with him this elvish Page, 

To Mary's chapel of the Lowes: 
For there, beside Our Ladye's lake, 
An oifering he Hkd sworn to make, 

And he would pay his vows. 
But the Ladye of Branksome gathered a baind 
Of the best that would ride at her command 

The trysting place was Newark Lee. 
Wat of Harden came thither amain, 
And thither came John of Thirlestaiue, 
And thither came William of Deloraine; 

They were three hundred spears and three. 
Through Douglas-bum, up YarrDw stream, 
Their horses prance, their lances gleam. 
They came to St Mary's lake ere day ; 
But the chapel was void, and the Baron away. 
They burned the chapel for very rage, 
And cursed Lord Cranstoun's (jrobliu Page.* 

XXXIV. 

And now, in Branksome's good gi'een wood, 

As under the aged oak he stood. 

The Baron's courser pricks his ears. 

As if a distant noise he hears. 

The Dwarf waves his long lean arm on high. 

And signs to the lovers to part and fly; 

No time was then to vow or sigh. 

»"Upou 25th June, 1557, Dame Janet Beatoune LAdy Biic- 
cleiich. and a great number of the name of Scoft, delaitit ^accused) 
for coming to the kirk of St Mary of the Lowes, to the number 
of two liundred persons bodin in feir of weire (arranged in 
■naour), and breaking open the doors of the said kirk, in order 
to apprehend the laird of Crangtoune for his destruction." j4Mdge- 
metU of Bookt of Adyni'Mnal in Advocates'' Library . It is said, 
tliAt, upon tliis rising, Oie kirk of St Mary was burned by th« 
Scottx 



82 LAY OF THE [CANTO IK 

Fair Margaret, through the hazel grove. 
Flew like the startled cushat-dove :* 
The Dwarf the stirrup held and rein ; 
Vaulted the knight on his steed amain, 
And, pondering deep that morning's scene, 
Rode eastwai"d through the hawthorns gi'cea. 



WiilLE thus he poured the lengthened tale, 
The Minstrel's voice began to fail : 
Full slyly smiled the observant page, 
And gave the withered hand of age 
A goblet, crowned with mighty wine, 
The blood of Velez' scorched vine. 
He raised the silver cup on high, 
And, while the big drop tilled his eye, 
Prayed God to bless the Duchess long. 
And all who cheered a son of song. 
The attending maidens smiled to see. 
How long, how deep, how zealously, 
The precious juice the minstrel quaffed ; 
And he, emboldened by the draught. 
Looked gaily back to them, and laughed. 
The cordial nectar of the bowl 
Swelled his old veins, and cheered his sou] ', 
A lighter, livelier prelude ran, 
Ere thus his tale again began. 



CANTO THIRD. 

I. 

And said I that my limbs were old; 
And said I that my blood was cold. 
And that my kindly fire was fled. 
And my poor withered heart was dead, 
And that I might not sing of love.^-^ 
How could I to the dearest theme. 



CANTO m.] LAST MmSTRF.L. 33 

That ever warmed a miustrel's dream, 

So foul, so false, a recreant prove ! 
How could I name love's very name, 
N or- wake my heart to notes of Hamo ! 

II. 
In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed ; 
In war, he mounts the warrior's steed; 
In halls, in gay attire is seen ; 
In hamlets, dances on the green. 
Love rules the court, the camp, the grove. 
And men below, and saints above ; 
For love is heaven, and heaven is love. 

III. 
So thought Lord Cranstoun, as I ween, 
^Vhile, pondering deep the tender scene, 
He rode through Branksome's hawthorn groefn. 
But the Page shouted wild and shrill — ■ 
And scarce his helmet could he don. 
When downward from the shady hill 
A stately knight came pricking on. 
That warrior's steed, so dapple-gray, 
Was dark with sweat, and splashed with clay ; 

His armour red with many a stain : 
He seemed in such a weary plight, 
As if he had ridden the live-long night; 
For it was William of Deloraine. 

IV. 

But no whit wear}' did he seem, 

When, dancing in the sunny beam, 

He marked the crane on the Baron's crest ;* 

For his ready spear was in his rest. 

Few were the words, and stern and high, 
That marked the foemen's feudal hate; 
For question lierce, and proud reply, 
Gave signal soon of dire debate. 



« Tlie crest of the Craiistouns, in allusion to their name, fa a 
crane dormant, holding a stone in his foot, with an eniphatic 
border motto. Thuu thalt want ere / waiif. 

b2 



34 LAY OF THE fCANTO 111 

Their very coursers seemed to know 
That each was other's mortal foe; 
And snorted fire, when wheeled around, 
To give each knight his vantage ground. 



In rapid round the Baron bent; 

He sighed a sigh, and prayed a prayer: 
The prayer was to his patron saint. 

The sigh was to his ladye fair. 
Stout Deloraine nor sighed, nor prayed, 
Nor saint, nor ladye, called to aid; 
But he stooped his head, and couched his 
And spurred his steed to full career. 
The meeting of these champions proud 
Seemed like the bursting thunder-cloud. 

VI. 
Stern was the dint the Borderer lent! 
The stately Baron backwards bent; 
Bent backwards to his horse's tail. 
And his plumes went scattering on the gale; 
The tough ash spear, so stout and true, 
Into a thousand Hinders fiew. 
But Craustoun's lance, of more avail. 
Pierced through, like silk, the Borderer's nudl; 
Through shield, and jack, and acton, paft. 
Deep in his bosom broke at last, — 
Still sate the warrior saddle-fast, 
Till, stumbling in the mortal shock, 
Down went the steed, the girthing broke, 
Hurled on a heap lay man and horse. 
The Baron onward passed his course; 
Nor knew — so giddy rolled his brain — 
His foe lay stretched upon the plain. 

VII. 
But when he reined his courser round. 
And saw his foeman on the ground 

Lie senseless as the bloody clay, 
He bade his page to staunch the womidf 

And there beside the warrior stay. 



CANTO in.] 



LAST MINSTREL. 35 



And tend him in his doubtful state, 
And lead him to Branksome castle-gate 
His noble mind was inly moved 
For the kinsman of the maid he loved. 
"This shalt thou do without delay; 
No longer here myself may stay: 
Unless the swifter I speed away, 
Short shrift will be at my dying day." 



Away in speed Lord Cranstoun rode; 

The Goblin- Page behind abode: 

His lord's command he ne'er withstood. 

Though small his pleasm-e to do good. 

As the corslet off he took, 

The Dwarf espied the Mighty Book! 

Much he marvelled, a knight of pride 

Like a book-bosomed priest should ride:* 

He thought not to search or staunch the wound.^ 

Until the seciet he had found. 



Tho iron band, the iron clasp, 
Resisted long the elfin grasp ; 
For when the first he had undone, 
It closed as he the next begun. 
Those iron clasps, that iron band. 
Would not }neld to unchrlstened hand. 
Till he smeared the cover o'er 
With the Borderei-'s curdled gore; 
A moment then the volume spread. 
And one short spell therein he read. 
It had much of glamourf might. 
Could make a ladye seem a knight; 
The cobwebs on a dungeon wall, 
Seem tapestiy in lordly hall; 

* There is a tradition, that friars were wont to conic from Mel- 
ros^ or Jedburgh, to baptize and marry in the parish of ITnthanki 
and, from being in use co rarry tlie mass-book in their bosomsi 
they were called Sook a-bnsomes, 

+ Glamour, in the lefjends of Scottish superstition, means th« 
magic po\per of imposmg on the eye-sipht of ttie spectators, so 
that inrt appturaiioe of an objeot shall be totally ditfcront from the 
'eality. 



36 LAY OF THE lCANTO ] 

A nut-shell seem a gilded barge, 
A sheeling* seem a palace large, 
And youth seem age, aud age seem youth- 
All vras delusion, nought was truth. 

X. 

lie had not read another spell. 

When on his cheek a buffet fell, 

So fierce, it stretched him on the plain, 

Beside the wounded Deloraiue. 

From the ground he rose dismayed, 

And shook his huge and matted head; 

One word he muttered, and no more — 

" Man of age, thou smitest sore !" 

No more the Elfin Page durst try 

Into the wondrous Book to pry; 

The clasps, though smeared with Christian gaiC^ 

Shut faster than they were before. 

He hid it underneath his cloak. — 

Now, if you ask who gave the stroke, 

I cannot tell, so mot I thrive; 

It was not given by man alive. 



Unwillingly himself he addressed, 

To do his master's high behest: 

He lifted up the living corse. 

And laid it on the weary horse; 

He led him into Branksome hall, 

Before the beards of the warders all; 

Aud each did after swear and say. 

There only passed a wain of hay. 

He took him to Lord David's tower, 

Even to the Ladye's secret bower; 

And, but that stronger spells were spTOSfd, 

And the door might not be opened. 

He had laid him on her "^ery bed. 

Whate'er he did of gramarye,^ 

Was always done maliciously ; 

• A shepherd's huf. 



CANTO III.] I-AST MINSTREL. 87 

He flung the warrior on the ground, 

And the blood welled freshly from the wound. 

XII. 

As he repassed the outer court, 

He. spied the fair young child at sport : 

He thought to train him to the wood; 

For, at a word, be it understood. 

He was always for ill, and never for good. 

Seemed to the boy, some comrade gay 

Led him forth to the woods to play; 

On the draw-bridge the warders stout 

Saw a terrier and lurcher passing out. 



He led the boy o'er bank and fell, 

Until they came to a woodland brook; 
The running stream dissolved the si)ell,* 

And his own elvish shape he took. 
Could he have had his pleasure wilde. 
He had crippled the joints of the noble child; 
Or, with his fingers long and lean, 
Had strangled him in fiendish spleen: 
But his awful mother he had in dread, 
And also bis power was limited; 
So he but scowled on the startled child, 
And darted through the forest wild ; 
The woodland brook he bounding crossed. 
And laughed, and shouted, " Lost ! lost ! lost !" 



Full sore amazed at the wonderous change, 
And frightened, as a child might be, 

At the wild yell and visage strange, 
And the dark words of gramarye, 

The child, amidst the forest bower, 

Stood rooted like a lilye flower; 



* It is a firm article of popular faith, that no enchantment caa 
■iibsiKt iu a living stream. Nay if you can interpose a brook be* 
twixt you and witches, f spectres, or even tien(l!!,you are in perfect 
safety. Burns's iniroitabie Tarn if Shanter turns entirely upon 
eiirli a circuiUDtance. 



"O LAY OF THE [CANTO HI 

And -when at length, with trembling pace, 
He sought to find where Branksome lay, 

He feared to see that grisly face 

Glare from some thicket on his way 
Thus, starting oft, he journeyed on, 
And deeper in the wood is gone, — 
For aye the more he sought his way. 
The farther still he went astray, — 
Until he hoard the mountains round 
Ring to the baying of a hound. 

XV. 

And hark ! and hark ! the deep-mouthed bark 

Comes nigher still, and nigher; 
Bursts on the path a dark blood-hound. 
His tawny muzzle tracked the ground, 

And his red eye shot fire. 
Soon as the wildered child saw he, 
He flew at him right furiouslie. 
I ween you would have seen with joy 
The bearing of the gallant boy, 
When, worthy of his noble sire, 
His wet cheek glowed 'twixt fear and ire! 
He faced the blood-hound manfully, 
And held his little bat on high ; 
So fierce he struck, the dog, afraid. 
At cautious distance hoarsely bayed, 

But still in act to spring; 
When dashed an archer through the glade, 
And when he saw the hound was stayed. 

He drew his tough bov/-string ; 
But a rough voice cried, "Shoot not, hoy! 
Ho ! shoot not, Edward — 'tis a boy !" 

XVI. 

The speaker issued from the wood. 
And checked his fellow's surly mood. 

And quelled the ban-dog's ire: 
He was an English yeoman good. 

And born in Lancasliire. 



CANTO UL] 



LAST MINSTREL. 39 



Well could he hit a fallow deer 

Five hundred feet him fro ; 
With hand more true, and eye more clear. 

No archer bended bow. 
His coal-black hair, shorn round and close, 

Set off his sun- burned face; 
Old England's sign, St George's cross. 

His baiTet-cap did grace; 
His bugle horn hung by his side, 

All in a wolf-skin baldric tied; 
And his short faulchion, sharp and cleac, 
Had pierced the throat of many a deer. 



His kirtle, made of forest green. 

Reached scantly to his knee; 
And, at his belt, of aiTows keen 

A furbished sheaf bore he; 
His buckler scarce in breadth a span, 

No longer fence nad he; 
He never counted him a man, 

Would strike below the knee; 
His slackened bow was in his hand, 
And the leash, that was his blood-hound's band.* 

XVIII, 

He would not do the fair child harm, 
But held him with his powerful arm, 
That he might neither hght nor flee ; 
For when the Red-Cross spied he. 
The boy strove long and violently, 
" Now, by St George," the archer cries, 
" Edward, methinks we have a prize ! 
This boy's fair face, and courage free, 
Shows he is come of high degree." 

xwc. 

" Yes ! I am come of high degree, 

For I am the heir of bold Buccleuch; 
And, if thou dost not set me free, - 

• This sjcetch of an English yeoman is imitated from Dra>ton 
acconnt of Robin Hood an.l his followers. To wound an antago 
nUt in the toigh. or l«s;, was rf rkoned cnntrarv to tho l;iw of arms 



40 LAY OF THE 



[CA>"rO III 



False Sutliron, thou shalt dearly rue ! 
For Walter of Harden shall come with speed. 
And William of Deloraine, good at need, 
And every Scott from Esk to Tweed-, 
And, if thou dost not let me go, 
Despite thy ai'rows, and thy bow, 
I'll have thee hanged to feed the crow P* 



"Gramercy, for thy good will, fair boy! 
My mind was never set so high; 
But if thou art chief of such a clan, 
And art the son of such a man, 
And ever comest to thy command, 

Our wardens had need to keep in good ordcar ; 
My bow of yew to a hazel wand, 

Thou'lt make them work upon the Border 
Meantime, be pleased to come with me, 
For good Lord Dacre shalt thou see ; 
I think our work is well begun, 
When we have taken thy father's son." 

. XXI. 

Although the child was led away, 
In Branksome still he seemed to stay. 
For so the Dwaif his»part did play; 
And, in the shape of that young boy. 
He wrought the castle much annoy. 
The comrades of the young Buccleuch 
He pinched, and beat, and oveithrew; 
Nay, some of them he well nigh slew. 
He tore Dame Maudlin's silken tie; 
And, as Sym Hall stood by the fire. 
He lighted the match of his bandelier,* 
And woefully scorched the hackbutteer.'f' 
It may hardly be thought,, oi said. 
The mischief that the urchin made. 
Till many of the castle guessed, 
That the young Baron was possessed. 



* Bandelier, belt for carrying ammunition. 
< Backlfvtlear, musketeer 



m 

LAST MINSTKEL. 



XXII. 

Well I ween, the charm he held 
The noble Ladye had soon dispelled; 
But she was deeply busied then 
To tend the wounded Deloraine. 

Much she wondered to find him lie, 
On the stone threshold stretched along; 

She thought some spirit of the sky 

Had done the bold moss-trooper wrong, 
Because, despite her precept dread, 
Perchance he in the Book had read; 
But the broken lance in his bosom stood. 
And it was earthly steel and wood. 



She drew the splinter from the wound, 

And with a charm sh« staunched the blood;* 

She bade the gash be cleansed and bound : 
No longer by his couch she stood; 

But she has ta'en the broken lance. 
And washed it from the clotted gore, 
And salved the splinter o'er and o'er.*|* 

William of Deloraine in trance. 

Whene'er she turned it round and round, 
Twisted, as if she galled hi^ wound. 
Then to her maidens she did say. 
That he should be whole man and sound, 
Within the course of a night and day. 

Full long she toiled; for she did rue 

MijsLap to friend so stout and trae. 



So passed the day — ^the evening fell, 
'Twas n«;ar the time of curfew bell ; 
The air was mild, the wind was calm, 
The stream was smooth, the dew was balm: 



» See several charms for this purpose in Reginald Scct't Dis- 
cover ie of lyiU'i^raft, p. 273. 

+ This idea is taken from Sir Kenelm Di^by's account of hij 
i\Tr.pathetio po-s^ier, with which he cured all wounds by merely 
anuinting with it <he weapon thaf had iuHiuCcd then). 



42 LAY OF THE £CANTO ID 

E'en the rude -watchraan, on the tower, 
Enjoyed and blessed the lovely hour. 
Far more fair Margaret loved and blessed 
The hour of silence and of rest. 
On the high turret sitting lone, 
She waked at times the lute's soft tone; 
Touched a wild note, and all between 
Thought of the bower of hawthorns green; 
Her golden hair streamed free from band. 
Her fair cheek rested on her hand. 
Her blue eyes sought the west afar. 
For lovers love the western star. 



i Is yon the star, o'er Penchryst Pen, 

I That rises slowly to her ken, 

i And,- spreading broad its wavering light, 

! Shakes its loose tresses on the night.' 
Is yon red glare the western star ? — 

I O, 'tis the beacon-blaze of war ! 

I Scarce could she draw her tightened breath? 

I For well she knew the fire of death ! 

XXVI. 

The warder viewed it blazing strong, 
And blew his war-note loud and long. 
Till, at the high and haughty sound. 
Rock, wood, and river, rung around. 
The blast alarmed the "festal hall. 
And startled forth the warriors aU ; 
Far downward, in the castle-yard, 
Full many a torch and cresset glared; 
And helms and plumes, confusedly tossed, 
Were in the blaze half-seen, half-lost; 
And spears in Avild disorder shook, 
Like reeds beside a frozen brook. 

XXVII. 

The Seneschal, whose silver hair 
Was reddened by the torches' glare, 
Stood in the midst, with gesture proud. 
And issiied forth his manda^f^s loud.— 



OANTO ra.] I.AST MINSTREL. 43 

" On Penchryst glows a bale* of fire, 

And three are kindling on Priesthaughswirejf 

Ride out, ride out, 

The foe to scout ! 
Mount, mount for Branksome,^ ever)' man! 
Thou, Todrig, warn the Johnstone clan, 

That ever are true and stout. — 
Ye need not send to Liddesdale; 
For, when they see the blazing bale, 
Elliots and Armstrongs never fail. — 
Ride, Alton, ride, for death and life. 
And warn the warden of the strife. 
Young Gilbert, let our beacon blaze. 
Our kin, and clan, and friends, to raise.''§ 



Pair Margaret, from the turret head, 
Heard, far below, the coursers' tread. 

While loud the liarness rung, 
As to their seats with clamour dread, 

The ready horsemen sprung; 
And trampling hoofs, and iron coats, 
And leaders' voices, mingled notes, 
And out ! and out ! 
In hasty route. 

The horsemen galloped forth; 
Dispersing to the south to scout, 

And east, and west, and north. 
To view their coming enemies, 
And warn their vassals, and allies. 



The ready page, with hurried hand, 
Awaked the need-fire's :|| slumbering brand, 
And ruddy blushed the heaven : 



« Bale, beacon -feggot. + Ste note on p. 45. 

t Mount for Branksome, was the gathering word of tho 
Scotts. 

_ § On account of the clannish feelings of relationship that sub- 
sisted among the Borderers, a Border chief could muster a large 
force at a very short uctice. whether for the pxirpose of surprise of 
rescue. 

|l JVeed-fire, beacon. 



44 LAY OF THE [CANTO lit 

For a sheet of flame, from the tunet high, 

Waved like a hlood-flag on the sky, 
All flaring and uneven. 

And soon a score of flres, I ween. 

From height, and hill, and clitf, were seen; 

Each with warlike tidings fraught; 

Each from each the signal caught; 

Each after each they glanced to sight. 

As stars arise upon the night. 

They gleamed on many a dusky tarn,* 

Haunted by the lonely earn;i* 
I On many a cairn's gray pyramid, 

'■ Where urns of mighty chiefs lie hid;!}! 

I Till high Dunedin the blazes saw, 

\\ From Soltra and Dumpender Law; 

1 And Lothian heard the Regent's order. 

That all should bowne§ them for the Bolder. 

I XXX. 

} I The livelong night in Branksome rang 

I I The ceaseless sound of steel; 

The castle-bell, with backward clang, 
[ : Sent forth the larum peal ; 

I i Was frequent heard the henvj jar; 

I • Where massy stone and iron bar 

I ' Were piled on echoing keep and tower, 

I ) To whelm the foe with deadly shower; 

j : Was frequent heard the changing guard, 

1 And watch-word from the sleepless ward; 

I' While, wearied by the endless din, 

I Blood-hound and ban- dog yelled within, 

XXXI. 

jl - The noble Dame, amid the broil, 

j : Shared the gray Seneschal's high toil, 

' And spoke of danger with a smile; 

I I * Tni-n, a mountain Lake. + Eai-n, a Scottish eagle. 

; ■ J The cairns, or piles of loose stone, ivliich cro« n the summit o| 

. moHt of our Scottish hills, seem usually to have been sepulchnU 

monuments. Six flat stones are commonly foun'' fn the cenue. 

forming a cavity of greater or smaller dimensions, ^. which an urn 

is often placed. 
6 Bourne, make reft-Jv. » 



CANTO IV.] 



LAST Ml.NSXiiiiL. 45 



Cheered the young knights, and council sage ! j 

Held with the chiefs of riper age, ii 

No tidings of the foe were brought, | ! 

Nor of his numbers knew they ought, \ I 

Nor in what time the tmce he sought. j 

Some said, that there were thousands teu. 
And others weened that it was nought 
But Leven Clans, or Tynedale men, 
Who came to gather in black mail;* 
And Liddesdale, with small avail, 

Might drive them lightly back agen. 
So passed the anxious night away, 
And welcome was the peep of day. 



Ceased the high sound — the listening throng 

Applaud the Master of the Song; 

And marvel much, in helpless age, 

So hard should be his pilgrimage. 

Had he no friend — no daughter dear. 

His wandering toil to share and cheer; 

No son, to be his father's stay. 

And guide him on the rugged way.^ — 

" Aye ! once he had — but he was dead !'" 

Upon the harp he stooped his head. 

And busied himself the strings withal, 

To hide the tear, that fain would fall. 

In solemn measure, soft and slow, 

Arose a father's notes of woe. 



CANTO FOURTH. 
I. 

Sweet Teviot! on thy silver tide 

The glaring bale-firesf blaze no more; 

* Protection-money exacted hy free-booters. 

+ Tlie Border beacons, from tlieir number and positk n, formsd 
a sort of tele^iapliic commtinication with Edinburgh. — Die art of 
parliament }455, c. 48, directs that one bale or faggot shall be w *m- 
mg of the approach of the English ui any manner ; two bales, that 
they are coming indeed; four bales, blazing beside each other, that 
the enemy are in great force. 



46 LAY OF THE fCANTO IV 

No longer ste6l-clad warriors ride 

Along thy wild and willowed shore 
Where'er thou Avind'st by dale or hill, 
All, all is peaceful, all is still, 

As if thy waves, since Time was born. 
Since first they rolled upon the Tweed, 
Had only heard the shepherd's reed. 

Nor started at the bugle-horn. 



Ufdike the tide of human time, 

Which, though it change in ceaseless flow, 

Retains each grief, retains each crime, 

Its earliest course was doomed to know, 
And, darker as it downward bears. 
Is stained with past and present tears. 

Low as that tide has ebbed with me, 
It still reflects to memory's eye 
The hour, my brave, my only boy. 

Fell by the side of great Dundee.* 
Why, when the volleying musket played 
Against the bloody Highland blade, 
Why was not I beside him laid ! — 
Enough — he died the death of fame ; 
Enough — he died with conq^uering Grseme. 

III. 
Now over Border dale and fell. 

Full wide and far was terror spread; 
For pathless marsh, and mountain cell. 

The peasant left his lowly shed.f 
The frightened flocks and herds were pent 
Beneath the peel's rude battlement ; 
And maids and matrons dropped the tear. 
While ready warriors seized the spear. 
From Branksome's towers, the watchman's eye 
Dun wreaths of distant smoke can spy, 

* The Viscount of Dundee, slain in the battle of KillycrawkJe* 

t The Morasses were the usuiJ refuge of the Border herdsmeo, 

on the approach of an KiigUuli army. Caves, hewed iii the most 

dangerous aial inaccessible j laces, also afforded an occasional r«r 

treat. 



CAIVIO IV. J LAST MINSTREL. a-J 

Which, curling in the rising sun, 
Showed southern ravage was hegun.* 



Now loud the heedful gate-ward criod — 
" Prepare ye all for blows and hlood! 
Watt Tinlinn, from the Liddle-side,+ 

Comes wading through the flood. 
Full oft the Tynedale snatchers knock 
At his lone gate, and prove the lock; 
It was but last St Barnabright 
They sieged him a whole summer night. 
But fled at morning; well they knew. 
In vain he never twanged the vew. 
Right sharp has been the evening shower, 
That drove him from his Liddle tower; 
And, by my faith," the gate- ward said, 
"I think 'twill prove a Warden- Raid." J 



While thus he spoke, the bold yeoman 
Entered the echoing barbican. 
He led a small and shaggy nag. 
That through a bog, from hag to hag,§ 
Could bound like any Bilhope stag;|| 
It bore his wife and children twain ; 
A half-clothed serf^ was all their train : 
His wife, stout, ruddy, and dark-browed, 
Of silver broach and bracelet proud,** 
Laughed to her friends among the crowd. 



* The mutual cruelties of the Borderers, and the personal hatre<I 
of the Wardens gave to the Border wars, between England and 
Scotland, a character of savage atrocity which could not be para- 
llelled even in the wars of the sixteenth century. 

+ Wati Tinlinn was a retainer of the Biiccleuch family, and 
held for his Border ser^dce a small tower on tlie frontiers of Liid- 
Uesoale. Watt iras, by profession, a tutor (shoemaker^, but, by 
inclination and practice, an archer and warrior. 

J An inroad commanded by the Warden in person. 

§ The broken ground in a bog. 

II Bilhope was famous among hvinters for backs and roes. 

11 Bonds-man. 

** The Borderers, on account of being exposed to having their 
houses burned or plundered, were anxious to display splendour in 
decorating and ornamenting their femiJef. 



48 LAY OF THK [CANTO IV 

He was of stature passing tall, 

But sparely formed, and lean withal : 

A battered monon on his brow; 

A leathern jack, as fence enow, 

On his broad shoulders loosely hung; 

A border-axe hehiiid was slung; 

His spear, six Sct-ttish ells in lengthy 
Seemed newly dyeil with gore; 

His shafts and how, of wondrous strengtii. 
His hardy partner bore. 

VI. 

Thus to the Ladye did Tinlinn show 

The tidings of the Knglish foe:— 

" Belted Will Howard is marching here,* 

And hot Lord Dacre, with many a spear, 

And all the German hagbut-men,t 

Who have long lain at Askertain: 

Thev crossed the Liddle at curfew hour, 

And burned my little lonely tower; 

The tiend receive their souls therefor! 

It had not been burned this year and more. 

Barn-yard and dwelling, blazing bright. 

Served to guide nie on my flight; 

But I was chased the live-long night. 

Black John of Akeshaw, and Fergus Grseme, 

Fast upon my traces came, 

Until I turned at Priesthaugh-Scrogg, 

And shot their horses iu the bog, 

» Lord WUUam Howard, third son of Thoiras, duke of Norfolk. 
By a poetical aiinrhi-onisin, lie is introduced into the rnmance a 
■ few years earlier than he actually flourLshed. He was warden ol 
the Western Marches: and from the rigour with whiih he re- 
pr(!ssed the Border excesRes, the name of Belted Will Howard ii 
■til! famous in our traditioi^. The well-known nanif of Dacre U 
derived from the exploits of one of their ancestors at the siige ol 
Acre or Ptoleiiiais, under Ri.hard Co-ui- de I^ion. The loid Dacie 
of this period, was a man of hot and obstinate character, as appeai-« 
from some particulars of I oid Surrey's letter to Henry VIIL. jfiving 
an account of his behaviour at the siege and storm of Jedburgh. 

+ In the H-ars uith ScoLland, Henry ^' 1 1 1., and h,s succi^ssors 
emploved nunieious bands ol mercenary troops. At the battle of 
Pinky' there were in the K.nglish army s'ix hundred liacKbiitJeeiB, 
or nnjjiketecrs on foot, and two hundred on horseback. c<mii«)sed 
chiertv of foreigners. Krom the battle-pieces of the ancient Flen»- 
iah painters, we learn th^t the I,o\v-Country and German iMildicrS 
marched to an asaa'ill wit'a tbnir ri^'lit knees bared. 



OiU»TO IV.J LAST MINSTREL. 49 

Selw Fergus -with ray lance outright — 

I had hira long at high despite : 

lie drove my cows last Fastern's night." 



Now -weary scouts from Liddesdale, 

Fast hurrying in, confirmed the tale; 

As far as they could judge by kun. 

Three hours would bring to Teviot's strand 
Three thousand armed Englishmen. — 
Meanwhile, full many a warlike band, 
Fr'>m Teviot, Aill, and Ettrick shade. 
Came in, their Chiefs defence to aid. 

VIII. 
Ff^m fair St Mary's silver wave. 

From dreary Gamescleuch's dusky height, 
Hi.« ready lances Thirlestane brave* 

Arrayed beneath a banner bright. 
The treasured fieur-de-luce he claims 
To wreathe his shield, since royal James, 
Fncamped by Fala's mossy wave, 
1 he proud distinction grateful gave, 

For faith mid feudal jars; 
What time, save Thirlestane alone, 
Gf Scotland's stubborn barons none 

Would march to southern wars; 
A ad hence, in fair remembrance worn, 
Y on sheaf of spears his crest has borne : 
Hence his high motto shines revealed, — 
*' Ready, aye ready," for the field. 

IX. 

An aged knight, to danger steelnd, 
With many a moss-trooper, cams on: 



* ■VThen James hnA as<i«>inWc(1 his nohi'.ity at Fhl*. to ia'^'w^'' 
Engriand, anJ \ras disaiiroiiiie.l bv thi'ir retiisa'. Sii JuimScdt oj 
Thirlestane alune deolaivil liitnsflf ready to lnUinv the king 'tHcp- 
ever he sliould lead. In memory nf his fidelity, Jam's {riaiited to 
hie family a charter of arms, entitling them to be-ii a border o< 
fleurft-de-lure, similar to the tri-asure in the royal nrms, %vilh a 
buDiile of spears for the crest; moito. Rendy, (tyv yrnd'i 



50 LAY OF THE [CA^TO IV 

And azure in a golden field, 

The stars and crescent graced his shield, 

Without the bend of Murdieston.* 
Wide lay his lands round Oakwood tower. 
And wide round haunted Castle-Ower; 
High over Borthwick's mountain flood, 
His wood-embosomed mansion stood; 
In the dark glen, so deep below, 
The herds of plundered England low ; 
His bold retainers' daily food, 
And bought with danger, blows, and blood. 
Marauding chief ! his sole delight 
The moonlight raid, the morning fight; 
Not even the Flower of Yarrow's charms. 
In youth, might tame his rage for arms; 
And still, in age, he spumed at rest, 
And still his brows the helmet pressed. 
Albeit the blanched locks below 
Where white as Dinlay's spotless snow: 

Five stately warriors drew the sword 
Before their father's band; 

A braver knight than Harden's lord 
Ne'er belted on a brand. 

X. 

Whitslade the Hawk, and Headshaw came, 
And warriors more than I may name; 
From Yarrow-cleuch to Hindhaugh-swair, 

From Woodhouselie to Chester--glen, 
Trooped man and horse, and bow and spear; 

Their gathering word was Bellenden.T 
And better hearts o'er Border sod 
To siege or rescue never rode. 

» Walter Scott of Harden. Trho flourished during the reign o* 
QiieRn Mary, was a renowned Border freebooter, whose castle (ros 
situate upon the very brink of a dark and precipitous dell, thro tgh 
wliich a scanty rivulet stea's to meet the Borthwick. In the c&- 
cesB of this glen he is said to have kept his spoil, which ser fed for 
the daily inaiiitenainie ot his retainers, until the production of a 
pair of clean spurs in a covered dish, announced to the hungry 
band, that they must ride for a supply of provisions. He was 
married to Mai'y Scott, called in song the Kluwer of Yarrow. 

t Ballenden is situated near the head of Borthwick water, and 
being in the centre of the possessions of the Scotts, was frequently 
used aa their place of rendezvous and gathering word. 



CANTO IV.] 



LAST MINSTflEU 61 



The Ladye marked tte aids come in. 
And high her heart of pride arose; 
She bade her youthful son attend, 
That he might know his father's friend. 

And learn to face his foes. 
" The boy is ripe to look on "war ; 

I sa-w him draw a cross-bow stiff, 
And his true arrow struck afar 
The raven's nest upon the cliff; 
The Red Cross, on a southern breast. 
Is broader than the raven's nest : 
Thou, Whitslade, shalt teach him his weapon to 
And o'er him hold his father's shield." ["wield, 



Well may you think, the wily Page 

Cared not to face the Ladye sage. 

He counterfeited childish fear. 

And shrieked, and shed full many a tear, 

And moaned and plained in manner wild. 
The attendants to the Ladye told. 

Some f:.iry, sure, had changed the child. 
That wont to be so free and bold. 
Then wrathful was the noble dame; 
She blushed blood-red for very shame : — 
" Hence ! ere the clan his faintness "view ; 
Hence with the weakling to Buccleuch ! — 
Watt Tinlinn, thou shalt be his guide 
To Ranglebum's lonely side. — 
Sure some fell fiend has cursed our line. 
That coward should e'er be son of minel" 

XII. 

A heavy task Watt Tinlinn had. 
To guide the counterfeited lad. 
Soon as his palfrey felt the weight 
Of that ill-omen'd elvish freight. 
He bolted, sprung, and reared amain. 
Nor heeded bit, nor curb, nor rein. 
It cost Watt Tinlinn mickle toil 
To drive bim but a Scottish mile; 
But, as a shallow brook tht y crossed. 



52 



LAY OF THB [CANTO l^ 



The elf, amid the running stream, 

His figure changed, like lomi in dream, 

And Had, and shouted, " Lost ! lost ! lost !" 
Full fast the urchin ran and laughed, 
But faster still a cloth-yard shaft 
Whistled from startled Tinlinn's yew, 
And pierced his shoulder through and through, 
Although the imp might not be slain, 
And though the wound stou healed again, 
Yet, as he ran, he yelled for j)ain ; 
And Watt of Tinlinn, much aghast, 
Rode back to Branksome fiery fast. 

Xlir. 

j4 Soon on the hill's steep verge he stood, 

1 1 That looks o'er Branktome's towors and wood; 

jl And martial murmurs, fnim below, 

i I Proclaimed the approaching southern foe. 

• : Through the dark wood, iu mingled tone, 

I Were Border-pipes and bugles blown; 

I The coursers' neigiiing he could ken, 

And measured tread of marching men ; 

While broke at times the solemn hoin, 
; The Almayn's sullen kettle-diTim; 

j And banners tall, of crimson sheen, 

i Above the Copse apjiear; 

j And, glistening through the hawthorns greeU; 

Shine helm, and shield, and spear. 

I XIV. 

: Light forayers first, to view the ground, 

Spurred their Heet coursers loosely round 
Behind, in close array and fast. 

The Kendal archers, all in green, 
Obedient to the bugle blast. 

Advancing from the wood are seen. 
To back and guard the archer band, 
Lord Dacre's bill-men were at hand ; 
A hardy race, on Irthing bred. 
With kirtles white, and crosses red. 
Arrayed beneath the banner tall, 
That streamed o'er Acre's conquered wall : 



CANTO TV.] 



LAST MINSTREL. 53 



And minstrels, as they marched in order, [der." 

Played, " Noble Lord Dacre, he dwells on the Bor« 



Behind the English hill and bow, 

The mercenaries, firm and slow, j 

Moved on to fight, in dark array, 
By Conrad led of Wolfenstein, 
VVho brought the band from distant Rhino, 

And sold their blood for foreign pay. 
The camp their home, their law the sword. 
They knew no country, owned no lord:* 
They were not armed like England's sons, 
But bore the levin-darting guns ; 
Buff-coats, all frounced and 'broidered o'er, 
And morsing-hornsi- and scarfs they wore ; 
Each better knee was bared, to aid 
The warriors in the escalade ; 
All, as they marched, in rugged tongue. 
Songs of Teutonic feuds they sung. 



But louder still the clamour grew, 

And louder still the minstrels blew. 

When, from beneath the greenwood tree, 

Rode forth Lord Ploward's chivalry ; 

His men at arms, with glaive and spear, 

Brought up the battle's glittering rear. 

There many a youthfal knight, full keen 

To gain his spm-s, in arms was seen ; 

With favour in his crest, or glove, 

Memorial of his lady e- love. 

So rode they forth in fair array, 

Till full their lengthened lines display; 

Then called a halt, and made a stand. 

And cried, " St George, for merry England P 

• Sucli were the mercenary soldiers who figure in the middl* 
ages under the names of Brabau^jdns, Condottierri, and Frec-Com- 
fiunions who farmed their seri-^cefi (o the hest bidders, and iiro- 
cUumed themselves "the frien>is of God, and enemies of all' the 
world." 

t Powder fla«kR. 



54 LAY OF THE [CANTO r* 



Now eA'ery English eye, intent, 
On Branksome's anned towers was bent ; 
So near they were, that they might know 
The straining harsh of each cross-bow ', 
On battlement and bartizan 
Gleamed axe, and spear, and partizan ; 
Falcon and culver,* on each tower, 
Stood prompt their deadly hail to shower ; 
And flashing armour frequent broke 
From eddying whirls of sable smoke, 
Where, upon tower and turret head. 
The seething pitch and molten lead 
I Reeked, like a witch's cauldron red. 

j While j-et they gaze, the bridges fall, 

I The wicket opes, and from the wall 

Rides forth the hoary Seneschal. 

XVIIl. 

Armed he rode, all save the head, 
j His white beard o'er his breast-plate spread; 

Unbroke by age, erect his seat. 

He ruled his eager courser's gait ; 

Forced him, with chastened hre, to prance, 
{ And, high curvetting, slow advance : 

In sign of truce, his better hand 
i Displayed a peeled willow wand; 

j His squire, attending in the rear, 

j Bore high a gauntlet on a spear. 4* 

I - When they espied him riding out, 

Lord Howard and Lord Dacre stout 

Sped to the front of their array, 
I To hear what this old knight should say. 

i XIX. 

! " Ye English warden lords, of you 

i Demands the Ladye of Buccleuch, 



* Ancient pieces of artillery. 
_ t A glove upon a lance was the emblem of faith among the an 
cier.t Sonlerers, who were wont, when any one broke his wrd 
to eypose this emblem, and pi-ocJaim him a faithless villain at tU» 
fisf Hoi der xneetina:. 



TANTO IV.1 LAST MINSTREL. 


1 

i 

55 


Why, 'gainst the truce of Border-tide, 




In hostile guise ye dare to ride, 


ii 


With Kendal how, and Gilsland brand. 




And all your mercenary band. 




Upon the bounds of fair Scotland ? 




j My Ladye reads you swith return; 




i And, if but one poor straw you bum, 




1 Or do our towers so much molest. 




j As scare one swallow from her nest, 




1 St Mary ! but we'll light a brand. 




Shall warm your hearths ja Cumberland." 


j 


XX. 

A wrathful man was Dacre's lord. 


'. 


But calmer Howard took the word : — 




" May't please thy Dame, Sir Seneschal, 




To seek the castle's outward wall; 




Our pursuivant-at-arms shall show, 




! Both why we came, and when we go." 




The message sped, the noble Dame 


11 
1 


To the walls' outward circle came; 


11 


Each chief around leaned on his spear, 


i 


To see the pursuivant appear. 


1 


All in Lord Howard's livery dressed, 


!| 


The lion argent decked his breast; 


il 


He led a boy of blooming hue — 


11 


1 sight to meet a mother's view! 


1 
t 


1 It was the heir of great Buccleuch. 


j! 


I Obeisance meet the herald made. 


j| 


1 And thus his master's will he said. 





XXI. I 

" It irks, high Dame, my noble Lords, i \ 
'Gainst ladye fair to draw their swords: 
But yet they may not tamely see, 
All through the western wardenry. 

Your law-contemning kinsmen ride, \ : 

And burn and spoil the Border-side; : 

And iU beseems your rank and birth i j 

To make your towers a flemens-firth.* i 

♦ An iW')Tim for nflf'^'ws. 



•">6 LA? OF THE tCANTO IV 

We claim from thee William of Deloraine, 
That he may suffer march-treason pain:* 
It was but last St Cuthbert's even 
He pricked to Stapleton on Leven, 
Harriedi" the lands of Richard Musgrave, 
And slew his brother by dint of glaive. 
Then, since a lone and widowed Dame 
These restless riders may not tame, 
Either receive within thy towers 
Two hundred of my master's powers, 
Or straight they sound their warison,J 
And storm and spoil thy garrison; 
And this fair boy, to London led, 
Shall good King Edward's page be bred.'^ 



He ceased — and loud the boy did cry, 
And stretched his little arms on high; 
Implored for aid each well-known face, 
And strove to seek the Dame's embrace. 
A moment changed that Ladye's cheer, 
Gushed to her eye the unbidden tear; 
She gazed upon the leaders round. 
And dark and sad each warrior fro-\vned; 
Then, deep within her sobbing breast 
She locked the struggling sigh to rest; 
Unaltered and collected stood, 
And thus replied, in dauntless mood. 

XXIII. 

" Say to your Lords of high emprize, 

Who war on woman and on boys, 

That either William of Deloraine 

Will cleanse him, by oath, of march-treason stain,§ 



« Several species of offences, peculiar to the Border, constitnlAd 
TThat was called march- treasoit Among others, was the crime o! 
riding, or causing to ride, against the opposite coimtTy diuing th^ 
tiaie of truce. 

+ Plundered. J Note of assault. 

§ In dubious cases, the innno^nce of Border-oriminali was 
occaaiooally referred to their own oath. 



CANTO I V.J LAST MINSTREL. 57 

Or else lie wiil the combat take 

Gainst Muagrave, for his honour's sake. 

No knight in Cumberland so good, 

But William may count with him kin and blood 

Knig^hthood he took of Douglas' sword. 

When English blood swelled Ancram ford ;* 

A.nd but that Lord Dacre's steed was wight, 

And bare him ably in the flight, 

Himself had seen him dubbed a knight. 

For the young heir of Brauksorae's line, 

God be his aid, and God be mine ; 

Through me no friend shall meet his doom ^ 

Here while I live, no foe finds room. 

Then, if thy lords their purpose urge, 
Take our defiance loud and high ; 

Our slogan is their lyke-wake+ dirge, 

Our moat, the grave where they shall lia." 

XXIV. 

Proud she looked round, applause to claim — 
Then lightened Thirlestane's eye of tiame ; 

His liugle Watt of Harden blew ; 
Pensils and pennons wide were Hung, 
To heaven the Border slogan rung, 

'"• St Mar)' for the young Buccleucli !" 
The English war-cry answered wide, 

And forward bent each southern spear ; 
Each Kendal archer made a stride, 

And drew the bow-string to his ear : ^ 
Each minstrel's war-note loud was blown; 
But, ere a gray-goose shaft had flown, 

A horseman galloped from the rear. 



• The dignity of knighthood, aocnrding to the original instHu 
tiim, h id lliis peculiarity, that it diti not flow from the monarch 
but could be conferred by one who hini>el/ possessed it, upon auy 
fquire who, after iliie probation, was found to merit the honour 
of chivalry. The battle ot Ancram Moor, or Penielheuch, which 
was fought A. n. 15 '5, was considered sufficient probati<m for that 
honour. The English, commanded by Sir Ralph Evers and Sit 
Brian f.atoun, were totally routed, and both their leaders sla-n ii 
the action. The Scottish army was commanded by Archibald 
Douglas, Fail of Angus, assisted by the laird of Duucleuch and 
Norm. in Lesley. 

t Lyka-ioake, the -watrhlng a corpse previous to interment. 

c2 



58 LAY OF TUE 



*' Ah ! noble Lciids !" he, breathless, said, 

" What treason has your march betrayed ? 

What make you here, from aid so far. 

Before yon walls, around you war ? 

Your foemen triumph in the thought, 

That in the toils the lion's caught. 

Already on dark Ruberslaw 

The Douglas holds his weapon-schaw :* 

The lances, waving in his train. 

Clothe the dun heath like autumn grain; 

And on the Liddle's northern strand, 

l*© bar retreat to Cumberland, 

Lord Maxwell ranks his merry-men good. 

Beneath the eagle and the rood ; 

And Jedwood, Eske, and Teviotdale, 

Have to proud Angus come ; 
And all the Merie and Lauderdale 

Have risen with haughty Home. 
An exile from Northumberland, 

In Liddesdale Tve wandered long; 
But still my heart was with meny England, 

And cannot brook my country's wrong. 
And hard I've spurred all night, to show 
The mustering of the coming foe." 

XXVI. 

" And let them come !" fierce Dacre cried ; 
" For soon yon crest, my father's pride, 
That swept the shores of Judah's sea. 
And waved in gales of Galilee, 
From Branksome's highest towers displayed. 
Shall mock the rescue's lingering aid ! — 
Level each harquebuss on row ; 
Draw, merry archers, draw the bow ; 
Up, bill-men, to the walls, and ciy, 
Dacre for England, win or die !" 

XXVII. 

"Yet hear," quoth Howard," calmly hear. 
Nor deem my words the words of fear : 

♦ jyfcipi ■.\-srha-f , tlip I'.Mitirv irray of a county. 



CANTO IV, 1 LAST MINSXREL. 59 

For who in field or foray slack 

Saw the blanche liou e'er fall back?* 

But thus to ris(ixie our Border flower 

In strife against a kingdom's power, 

Ten thousand Scots 'gainst thousands throo, 

Certes, were desperate policy. 

Nay, take the terms the Ladye made, 

Ere conscious of the advancing aid : 

Let Musgrave meet fierce Delorainef" 

In single fight ; and if he gain. 

He gains for us ; but if he's crossed, 

'Tis but a single warrior lost : 

The rest, retreating as they came. 

Avoid defeat, and death, and shame.'' 

XXVIII. 

Ill could the haughty Dacre brook 
His brother-warden's sage rebuka ; 
And yet his forward step he staid, 
And slow and sullenly obeyed : 
But ne'er again the Border side 
Did these two lords in friendship ridc; 
And this slight discontent, men say, 
Cost blood upon another day. 

xxix. 

The pursuivant-at-arms again 

Before the castle took his stand ; 
His trumpet called, with parleying stnun. 

The leaders of the Scottish band ; 
And he defied, in Musgrave's right, 
Stout Deloraine to single fight; 
A gauntlet at their feet he laid. 
And thus the teiTns of fight he said : — 
" If in the lists good Musgrave's sword 

Vanquish the knight of Deloraine, 
Your youthful chieftain, Branksome's lord» 

Shall hostage for his clan remain : 

* This was th^|lnisance of the noble house of Howard \n all 
its braifches. Th^ptst, or bearing, of a warrior, was oftea iw«d 
as a nnmme de guerre. 

t Trial by single combat, so peculiar to the feudal system, vpaa 
the Border?, 



60 LAY OF THE [CANTO IV 

If Deloraiiie foil good Musgrave, 
The boy his liberty shall have, 

Howe'er it falls, the English band, 
Uiiharniing Scots, by Scots unharmed, 
In peaceful masch like men unarmed, 

Shall straight retreat to Cumberland." 

XXX. 

Unconscious of the near relief, 

The proffer pleased each Scottish chief, 

Though much the Ladye sage gainsayed : 
For though their hearts were brave and true, 
From Jedwood's recent sack they knew, 

How tardy was the regent's aid ; 
And you may guess the noble Dame 

Durst not the secret prescience o\nti, 
Sprung from the art she might not name, 
By which the coming help was known. 
Closed was the compact, and agreed 
That lists should be enclosed with speed 
I _^ Beneath the castle on a lawn : 

j Tliey hxed the niorrow for the strife, 

} On foot, with Scottish axe and knife, 

' At the fourth hour from peep of dawn ; 

When Deloraine, from sickness freed, 
' Or else a champion in his stead, 

j Should for him. self and chieftain stand, 

' Against stout Musgrave, hand to hand. 

I XXXI. 

J I Know right well, that, in their lay, 

' Full many minstrels sing and say. 

Such combat should be made on horse, 
On foaming steed, in full career, 
With brand to aid, when as the spear 

Should shiver in the course : 
But he, the jovial Harper, taught* 
Me, yet a youth, how it was fought^^ 
In guise which now I say : ^P 



* The xierson, here alluded to, is one of our an 
minstrels, caUed Kattlini; lloaiinK Willie, Wiilie. 



ancienf Bordei 
rtd to 



c■A^•TO IV. 1 tAST MINSTREL. 61 

He knew each ordinance and clause 
Of black Lord Arcliibakrs battle laws, 

In the old Douglas' day. 
He brooked not, he, that scoffing tongue 
Should tax his minstrelsy with wi-ong, 

Or call his song untrue : 
For this when they the goblet plied, 
And such rude taunt had chafed his pride, 

The bard of Reull he slew. 
On Teviot's side, in fight, they stood. 
And tuneful hands were stained with blood; 
Where still the thorn's white branches wave, 
Memorial o'er his rival's grave. 

XXXII. 
Why should I tell the rigid doom. 
That dragged my master to his tomb ; 

How Ousenam's maidens tore their hair, 
Wept till their eyes were dead and dim. 
And wrung their hands for love of him. 

Who died at Jedwood Air? 
He died ! — his scholars, one by one. 
To the cold silent grave are gone ; 
And I, alas ! survive alone, 
To muse o'er rivalries of yore, 
And grieve that I shall hear no more 
The strains, with envy heard before ; 
For, with my minstrel brethren lied, 
My jealousy of song is dead. 



He paused : — the listening dames pgaiu 
Applaud the hoary Minstrel's strain; 
With many a word of kindly cheer, — 
In pity half, and half sincere, — 
Marvelled the Duchess how so ■well 
His legendar}-- scLg could tell — 

qaarreUrith one ofhis own profession, distin^sbed by theodd noma 
of Sireet Milk, from a. place on Kule water so called. They retired 
to decide tUe contest with their swords, and Sweet Afilk was killed 
on the spot ; in conseqiience of which Willie was taken and executed 
at Jedburerh. bequeathing his name to the beautiful Scotch ajr, 
oUlud "Kattliiig Koariiij Willie." 



&^ LAY OF THE [CANTO > 

Of ancient deeds, so long forgot ; 
Of feuds, whose niemoiy was not ; 
Of forests, now laid waste and bare ; 
Of towers, which harbour now the hare ; 
Of manners, long since changed and gone ; 
Of chiefs, who under their gray stone 
So long had slept, that fickle Fame 
Had blotted from her rolls their name, 
And twined round some new minion's head 
The fading wreath for which they bled ; — 
In sooth, 'twas strange, this old man's verse 
Could call them from their marble hearse. 

The Harper smiled, well pleased ; for ne'er 
Was flattery lost on poet's ear : 
A simple race ! they waste their toil 
For the vain tribute of a smile ; 
E'en when in age their flame expires, 
Her dulcet breath can fan its fires : 
Their drooping fancy wakes at praise, 
And striv' - to trim the short-lived blaze. 

Smiled then, well-pleased, the Aged Man, 
And thus his tale continued ran. 



CANTO FIFTH. 



Call it not vain : — they do not err, 
Who say, that, when the Poet dies, 

Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, 
And celebrates his obsequies ; 

Who say, tall cliff, and cavern lone, 

For the departed bard make moan ; 

That mountains weep in crystal rill ; 

That flowers in tears of balm distil ; 

Thiough his loved groves that breezes sigh, 

And oaks, in deeper groan, reply; 



CAWTO v.] I^AaT .MJ.NSTREL. 63 

And rivers teach their rushing wave 
To murmur dirges round his grave, 

II. 

Not that, in sooth, o'er mortal urn 

Those things inanimate can mourn ; 

But that the stream, the wood, the gslei, 

Is vocal with the plaintive Avail 

Of those, who, else forgotten long, 

Lived in the poet's faithful song. 

And, with the poet's parting breath. 

Whose memory feels a second death. 

The maid's pale shade, v^'ho wails her lot. 

That love, true love, should be forgot, 

From rose and hawthorn shakes the tear 

Upon the gentle minstrel's bier : 

The phantom knight, his glor}' fled, 

Mourns o'er the fields he heaped with dead; 

Mounts the wild blast that sweeps araaiu. 

And shrieks along the battle-plain : 

The chief, whose antique crownlet long 

Still sparkled in thu feudal song, 

Now, from the mountain's misty throne, 

Sees, in the thanedom once his own, 

His ashes undistinguished lie. 

His place, his power, his memory die : 

His groans the lonely caverns fill. 

His tears of rage impel the rill ; 

All mourn the minstrel's harp unstrung. 

Their name uiiknoAvn, their praise unsung, 

IIT. 
Scarcely the hot assault was staid. 
The terms of truce were scarcely made, 
Wlien they coidd spy, from Branksome's towers, 
The advancing march of martial powers ; 
Thick clouds of dust afar appeared, 
And trampling steeds were faintly heard ; 
Bright spears, above the columns dun, 
Glanced momentary to the sun ; 
And feudal banners fair displayed 
Tho bands that moved to Branksome's aii 



64 LAY OF THK 



IV, 

'Vails not to tell each hardy clan. 

From the fair JNliddle Marches came ; 
The Bloody Heart blazed in the van,* 

Announcing Douglas, dreaded name ! 
'Vails not to tell what steeds did spurn. 
Where the Seven Spears of VVedderbum+ 

Their men in battle-order set ; 
And Swinton laid the lance in rest, 
That tamed of yore the sparkling crest 

Of Clarence's Plantagenet. J 
Nor listfe, I say, what hundreds more. 
From the rich Merse and I.ammermore, 
And Tweed's fair borders, to the war, 
Beneath the crest of old Dunbar, 

And Hepburn's mingled banners come, 
Down the steep mountain glittering far, 

And shouting still, " a Home ! a Home r'§ 



Now squire and knight, from Brauksome sent, 
On many a courteous message went ; 
To every chief and lord they paid 
Meet thanks for prompt and powerful aid ; 
And told them, — how a truce was made, 
And how a day of fight was ta'en 
'Twixt Musgrave and stout Deloraine ; 
And how the Ladye prayed them dear, 



* The Woody heart was the well-known cogiiisanoe of the house 
of Douglas, assumed fiom the time of Good Lord James, to whose 
care Robert Bruce committed his heart, to be carried to the txoly 
Laml. 

+ Sir David Home of Wedderborn, slain in the fatal battle of 
Klodden, luft seven sous who were called the Seven Spears of 
Wedderburne. 

t At the battle of Bou^e in France, Thomas, Duke of Clarrnoe, 
brother to Henry V„ was unhorsed by Sir Jolni Swintoi. of Swin- 
ton, who distinguished him by a coronet set with precious stones, 
which he wore around his helmet. 

§ The Karls of Home, wePe descendants of tlie Dunbars, ancinnt 
Earls of March The slogan, or war-cry, of this powerful fiunily 
was, "a Home! a Home!" The Hepburus, a powerful family ir 
East Lothian, were usually in clone ariiaiice with the Ho 



CANTO v.] LAST MINSTREL. ti5 

That all would stay the fight to see, 

And deign, in love and courtesy, 
To taste of Branksome cheer, 
N'or, Avhile they bade to feast each Scot, 
Were England's noble Lords forgot ; 
Himself, the hoary Seneschal, 
Rode forth, in seemly terms to call 
Those gallant foes to Branksome Hall. 
Accepted Howard, than whom knight 
Was never dubbed, more bold in fight; 
Nor, when from war and armour fr.)o. 
More famed for stately courtesy: 
But angry Dacre rather chose 
In his pavilion to repose. 

VI. 

Now, noble Dame, perchance you ask, 

How these two hostile armies met? 
Deeming it wei'e no easy task 

To keep the truce which here was set; 
Where martial spirits, all on fire, 
Breathed only blood and mortal ire. — 
By mutual inroads, mutual blows. 
By habit, and by nation, foes, 

They met on Teviot's strand : 
They met, and sate them mingled down. 
Without a threat, without a frown. 

As brothers meet in foreign land : 
Tlie hands, the spear that lately grasped, 
Still in the mailed gauntlet clasped. 

Were interchanged in greeting dear; 
Visors were raised, and faces shown, 
And many a friend, to friend made known. 

Partook of social cheer. 
Some drove the jolly bowl about ; 

With dice and draughts some chased the day; 
And some, with many a merr)- shout, 
In riot revelry, and rout. 

Pursued the foot-ball play.* 

* The foot-ball was anciently a very favourite sport all throagh 
BcoUaud, but especially on tUo Burdera. 



66 



LAY OF THE [fJANTO V. 



YII. 



Vet Le it kno-wn, had bugles blown. 

Or sign of war been seen ; 
Those bands, so fair together ranged. 
Those hands, so frankly interchanged, I 

Had dyed with gore the green : I 

The merry shout by Teviot-side 
Had sunk in war-cries wild and wide, 

And in the groan of death ; 
And whingers,* now in friendship bare, 
The social meal to part and share. 

Had found a bloody sheath. 
'Twixt truce and war, such sudden change 
Was not unfrequent, nor held strange, 

In the old Border-day ;f 
But yet on Branksome's toAvers and town, 
In peaceful merriment, sunk down 

iTie sun's declining ray. 



The blithesome signs of wassel gay 
Decayed not with the dj-ing day ; 
Soon through the latticed windows tall. 
Of lofty Branksome's lordly hall, 
Divided square by shafts of stone, 
Huge flakes of ruddy lustre shone ; 
Nor less the gilded rafters rang 
With merry harp and beakers' clang ; 
And frequent, on the darkening plain. 
Loud hollo, whoop, or whistle ran. 
As bands, their stragglers to regain, 

Give the shrill watch- word of their clan ; 
And revellers, o'er their bowls, proclaim 
. Douglas 01 Dacre's conquering name. 

» A sort of knife, or poniard. 

+ Nonrilhstaiidiug the constant vmn tipon tVie Borden^ ttw 
inhabitants on either side appear to hv.ve legarded each other Ukii 
llje outposts of hostile armies, and often carried on something ro 
setnbling friendly intercourse, even m the middle of hostUitii-s, so 
that the arovertmieuts of both countries vrere jealnuj of their 
herishing'too inliinate a ronnexion. 



CAN1X> v.! LASr.MIKSTRi'lH 6? 

IX. 

Less frequent heard, and fainter still, 

At length the various clamours died ; 
And you might hear, from Branksome hill. 

No sound but Teviot's rushing tide ; 
Save, when the changing sentinel 
The challenge of his watch could tell ; 
And save, where, through the dark profound, 
The clanging axe and hammer's sound 

Rung from the nether lawn ; 
For many a busy hand toiled there, 
Strong pales to shape, and beams to square^ 
The lists' dread barriers to prepare, 

Against the morrow's da^vn. 

X. 

Margaret from hall did soon retreat, 

Despite the Dame's reproving eye, 
Nor marked she, as she left her seat, 

Full many a stilled sigh : 
For many a noble warrior strove 
To win the flower .of Teviot's love. 

And many a bold ally. — 
With throbbing head and anxious heart, 
All in her lonely bower apart. 

In broken sleep she lay : 
By times, from silken couch she rose ; 
While yet the bannered hosts reposet, 

She viewed the dawning day : 
Of all the hundreds sunk to rest, 
First woke the loveliest and the best. 

xr. 

She gazed upon the inner court. 

Which in the tower's tall shadow lay ; 
Where coursers' clang, and stamp, and snoit, 

Had rang the live-long yesterday ; 
Now still as death ; — till, stalking slow, — 

The jingling spurs announced his tread, — 
A stately warrior passed below ; 

But when he raised his plumed head — 
Blessed MaiT ! can it be ? — ■ 



68 LAY OF THE [CA^•'^0 V 

Sfccure, as if in Ousenam bowers, 

He walks through Branksome's hostile to"vrerB 
With fearless step and free. 
•She dare not sign, she dare not speak — 
Oh 1 if one page's slumbers break. 

His blood the price must pa}' ! 
Not all the pearls Queen Mary wears, 
Not Margaret's yet more precious tears. 

Shall buy his life a day. 

XII. 

Yet was his hazard small — for well 
You may bethink you of the spell 

Of that sly urchin Page ; 
Tliis to his lord he did impart 
And made him seem, by glamour art, 

A knight from Hennitage. 
Unchallenged, thus, the warder's post. 
The court, unchallenged, thus ho crossed. 

For all the vassalage : 
But, O ! what magic's quaint disguise 
Could blind fair Margaret's azure eyes ! 

She started from her seat; 
While with surprise and fear she strove, 
And both could scarcely master love — 

Lord Henry's at her feet. 

XIII. 
Oft have I mused, what purpose bad 
That foul malicious urchin had 

To bring this meeting round; 
For happy love's a heavenly sight, 
And by a vile malignant sprite 

In such no joy is found: 
And oft I've deemed, perchance ho thought 
Their erring passion might have MTOught 

Sorrow, and sin, and shame; 
And death to Cranstoun's gallant Knight, 
And to the gentle Ladye bright, 

Disgrace, and loss of fame. 
But earthly spirit could not tell 
The heai-t of them that loved so -well; 



CAirro v.] 



LAST MINSTREL. 09 



Trae love's the gift which God has given 
To man alone beneath the heaven. 

It is not Fantasy's hot tire. 

Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly ; 

It liveth not in tierce desire, 

With dead desire it doth not die: 
It is the secret sympathy, 
I'lie silver link, the silken tie, 
Which heart to heart, and mind to mind, 
lu body and in soul can bind. — 
Now leave we Margaret and her Knight, 
To tell you of the approaching tight. 

XIV. 
Their warning blast the bugles blew, 

The pipe's shrill port aroused each clan; 
la haste, the deadly strife to view. 

The trooping warriors eager ran : 
Thick round the lists their lances stood. 
Like blasted pines in Ettricke wood; 
To Branksome many a look they threw, 
The combatants' approach to view, 
And bandied many a word of boast. 
About the knight each favoui'ed most. 

xr. 
Meantime full anxious was the Dame; 
For now arose disputed claim. 
Of who should tight for Deloraine, 
'Twixt Harden and 'twixt Thirlestaine: 

They 'gan to reckon kin and rent. 

And frowning brow on brow was bent; 
But yet not long the strife — for, lo! 

Himseif, the Knight of Deloraine, 

Strong, as it seemed, and free from pain. 
In armour sheathed from top to toe. 
Appeared, and craved the combat due. 
I'ne Darae her charm successful knew, 
-Vnd the tierce c'niefs their claims withdrew. 

XVI. 
Uliea for the lists they sought the plain, 
The stately Ladye's silken rein 



70 LAY OF THE [CANTO 

Did iiuble Howard hold; 
Unarmed by her side he walked, 
And nnicli, in courteous phrase, they talked 

Of feats of arms of old. 
Costly his garb, his Flemish ruff 
Fell o'er his doublet, shaped of huff, 

With satin slashed, and lined; 
Tawny his boot, and gold his spur, 
His cloak was all of Poland fur, 

His hose with silver twined; 
His Bilboa blade, by Marchmen felt. 
Hung in a broad and studded belt; 
Hence, in rude phrase, the Borderers still 
Called noble Howard, Belted Will. 

XVII. 
Behind Lord Howard and the Dame, 
Fair Margaret on her palfrey came, 

Whose foot-cloth swept the ground; 
White was her wimple, and her veil, 
And her loose locks a ohaplet pale 

Of whitest roses bound ; 
The lordly Angus, by her side, 
In courtesy to cheer her tried; 
Without his aid, her hand in vain 
Had strove to guide her broidered rein. 
He deemed, she shuddered at the sight 
Of warriors met for mortal tight; 
But cause of terror, all unguessed, 
Was H uttering in her gentle breast, 
When, in their chairs of crimson plsiced, 
The Dame and she the barriers giaced. 

xviii. 

Prize of the field, the young Buccleuch 
An English knight led forth to view; 
Scarce rued the boy his present plight, 
So much he longed to see the fight. 
Within the lists, in knightly pride. 
High Home and haughty Dacre ride; 
Their leading staffs of steel they wieli 
Ajs marshals of the mortal field : 



CAS-IO V 3 LAST JIJNSTREL. 7l 

While to each knight their care assigned 
Like vantage of the sun and wind. 
Then heralds hoarse did loud proclaim, 
In king ai">d queen, and wardens' name. 

That none, while lasts the strife, 
Should dare, by look, or sign, or word. 
Aid to a champion to afford, 

On peril of his life; 
And not a breath the silence broke. 
Till thus the alternate heralds spoke : 

XIX. 

ENGLISH HERALD. 

Here standeth Richard of Musgi-ave, 

Good knight and true, and freely born, 
Amends from DelcA'aine to crave. 

For foul despiteous scathe and scorn. 
He sayeth, that William of Deloraine 

Is traitor false by Border laws; 
Tliis with his sword he will maintain, 

So help him God, and his good cause 1 

XX. 

SCOTTISH HERALD. 

Here standeth William of Deloraine, 
Good knight aud true, of noble strain. 
Who sayeth, that foul treason's stain. 
Since he bore arms, ne'er soiled his coat; 
Aud that, so help him God above. 
He will on Musgrave s body pl-ove. 
He lyes most foully in liis throat. 

LORD DACRE. 

Forward, brave champions, to the fight! j 

Sound trumpets ! j 

LORD HOME. 

" God defend the right T— 

Then, Teviot! how thine echoes rang, 
When bugle-sound and trumpet-clang 

Let loose the martial foes. 
And in mid list, ^vith shield poised high. 
And measured step and wary ej'e. 

The combatants did close. 



72 LAY Of THE [CAIMTO V. 



Ill would it suit your gentie ear, 

Ye lovely listeners, to hear 

How to the axe the helms did sound, 

And blood poured down from many a wound; 

For desperate was the strife, and long, 

And either warrior fierce and strong. 

But, were each dame a listening knight, 

I well could tell how Avarriors Kght; 

For I have seen war's lightning Hashing, 

Seen the claymore with bayonet clashing. 

Seen through red blood the war-horse dashiug. 

And scorned, amid the reeling strife, 

To yield a step for death or life. 

XXTl. 

'Tis done, 'fis done ! that fatal blow 

Has stretched him on the bloody plain; 

He strives to rise — Bra'e Musgrave, no! 
Thence never shalt thou rise again! 

He chokes in blood — some friendly hand 

Undo the visor's barred band, 

Untix the gorget's iron clasp, 

And give him room for life to gasp! — 

O, bootless aid! — haste holy Friar, 

Haste, ere the sinner shall expire ! 

Of all his guilt let him be shriven, 

And smooth his path from earth to heaven. 

XXIII. 
In haste the holy Friar sped ; — 
His naked foot was dywi with red. 

As through the lists he ran; 
Unmindful of the shouts on high. 
That hailed the conqueror's victory, 

He raised the dying man ; 
Loose waved his silver beard and hair, 
As o'er him he kneeled down in prayer; 
And still the crucifix on high "' 
He holds before his darkening eye; 
And stiil he bends an anxious ear, 
His faltering penitence to hear ; 



CANTO T.T I-AST MINSTREL. 73 

Still props him from the hloody sod, 
Still, even vrhen soul and body part, 
Pours ghostly comfort on his heart, 

And bids him trust in God! 
Unheard he prays; — the death pang's o'erl~ 
Riahard of Musgi-ave breathes no more. 



A.3 if exhausted in the fight, 

Or musing o'er the piteous sight, ! ! 

The silent victor stands ; j| 

His beaver did he not unclasp, | 

Marked not the shouts, felt not the graap }| 

Of gratulating hands. 
When lo ! strange cries of wild sxirprise, 
Mingled with seeming terror, rise 

Among the Scottish bands ; j 

Ajid all, amid the thronged array, ]{ 

In panic haste gave open way i ' 
To a half-nake(l ghastly man, 

Who doA\Tiward from the castle ran • I j 

lie crossed the barriers at a bound, ; j 

Aiid A^nld and haggard looked around, 'i 

As dizzy, and in pain; j; 

And all, upon the armed ground, | ; 

Knew William of Deloraine I ;! 

Each ladye sprung from seat with speed ; ' i 

V^aulted each marshall from his steed ; { j 

■*' And who art thou," they cried, ' : 

" Who hast this battle fought and won?" '.; 

His plumed helm was soon undone-^ ' j 

" Cranstoun of Teviotside ! ' 
For this fair prize I've fought and won,**-— 

And to the Ladye led her son. , j 

xxY. ; I 

Full oft the rescued boy she kissed, i j 

And often pressed him to her breast; jj 

For, under all her dauntless show, ' 

Her heart had throbbed at eveiy blow; | i 

Yet not Lord Cranstoun deigned she gre«ti ' j 

Though low he kneeled at her feet. — \ i 



74 LAY OF THE [CANTO • 

Me lists not tell what words were made, 
"VS'^hat Douglas, Home, and Howard said— 

— For Howard was a generous foe — 
And how the clan united prayed. 

The Ladye would the feud forego, 
And deign to hi ess the nuptial hour 
Of Cranstoim's Lord and Teviot's Flower. 



She looked to river, looked to hill. 

Thought on the Spirit's prophecy, 
Then broke her silence stem and still,-^ 

" Not you, but Fate, has vanquished me 
Their influence kindly stars may shower 
On Teviot's tide and Branksome's tower, 

For pride is quelled, and love is free." 
She took fair jMargaret by the hand, 
WTio, breathless, trembling, scarce might 

Tliat hand to Cranstoun's lord gave she. 
" As I am true to thee and thine, 
Do thou be ti-ue to me and mine ! 

This clasp of love our bond shall be ; 
For this is your betrothing day, 
And all these noble lords shall stay. 

To grace it •"A'ith their company." 

XXVII. 

All as they left the listed plain, 

Much of the stoiy she did gain : 

How Cranstoun fought with Deloraine, 

And of his Page, and of the Book, 

Which from the v/ounded knight be took; 

And how he sought her castle higli, 

That morn, by help of gi-amaryc ; 

How, in Sir Wil]iam''s armour ilit'Iit, 

Stolen by his Page, while slept the knigh^ 

He took on him the single fight. 

But half his tale he left unsaid, . 

And lingered till he joined the maid. — 

Cared not the Jjadye to betray 

Her mystic art« in view of day ; 



.ANTO v.] LAST MINSTliKL. 75 

But -vrell she thought ; ere miduight came, 

Of that strange Pa^e the pride to tame, 

From his foul hands the JBook to save. 

And send it back to Michael's grave.— 

Needa not to tell each tender word 

'Twixt J\largaret and 'twixt Cranstoun's lord| 

Nor how she told of former woes, 

And how her bosom fell and rose, 

While he and Musgrave bandied blows — 

Needs not these lovers' joys to tell ; 

Que da^, fair maids, you'll know them weU. 

XXVIII. 

William of Deloraine, some chance 
Had wakened from his deathlike trance; 

And taught that, in t'ue listed plain. 
Another, in his arras and shield, 
Against fierce ftrusgravp axe did wield, 

Under the name of Deloraine. 
Hence, to the field, unarmed, he ran. 
And hence his presence scared the clan, 
WTio held him for some fleeting wi-aith,* 
And not a man of blood and breath. 

Not much this new ally he loved. 

Yet, when he saw what hap had proved. 
He gi-eeted him right heaitilie : 

He would not waken old debate. 

For he was void of rancorous hate. 
Though rude, and scant of courtesy 5 
In raids he spilt but seldom blood. 
Unless when men at arms withstood. 
Or, as was meet, for deadly feud. 
He ne'er bore grudge for stalwart blow, 
Ta'en in fair fight from gallant foe : 

And so 'twas seen of him, e'en nov*r, 

A^ hen on dead Musgrave he looked down; 

Grief darkened on his rugged brow, 
Though half disguised with a fro^vn ; 
And thus, while sorrow bent his head, 
H^i3 foeman's epitaph he made. 

« The spectral apparition of u Jiving person. 



76 LAY OP XHB CCAWTO V, 

XXIX. 

** Now, Richard Musgra ve, liest thou here ) 

I ween, my deadly enemy ; 
For if I slew thy brother dear, 

Thou siewest a sister's son to me ; 
And when 1 lay in dungeon dark, 

Of Naworth Castle, long mouths three. 
Till ransomed for a thousand mark. 

Dark Musgi-ave, it was long of thee. 
And, Musgrave, could our tight be tried. 

And thou wert now alive, as I, 
No mortal man should us divide. 

Till one, or both of us, did die : 
Yet, rest thee God ! for well 1 know, 
I ne'er shall ftnd a nobler foe. 
In all the northern counties here, 
Whose word is, Snaile, spur, and spear,* 
Thou wert the best to follow gear. ' 
'Tyvas pleasure, as we looked behind. 
To see how tbou the chace couldst wind, 
Cheer the dark blood-hound on his way. 
And with the bugle rouse the fray If 
I'd give the lands of Deloraine, 
Dark Musgrave were alive again." 

XXX. 
8o mourned he, till Lord Dacre's band 
Were bowning back to Cumberland, 
rhey raised brave Musgrave from the field, 
A.nd laid him on his bloody shield ; 
On levelled lances, four and four. 
By turns, the noble burden bore : 
Before, at times, upon the gale. 
Was heard tt3 Minstrel's plaintive wail ; 
Behind, four priests, in sable stole. 
Song re(iuiem for the warrior's soul : 

» The landft, that orer Ouse to Berwick forth do bear, 
Have for their blaxou )iad, the guafle, spur, and sjiear. 

PoUy-ulbion, Soug xxzill 
t The purtoit of Border marauders was followed by the in- 
'Ured p^rty and tii3 trieuds with blood-houiiUs and bugle-hom, 
and was called the hot-trod. He was entitled, if his dog could 
trace the scent, to follow the invaders into the ojiposite kiugdoiui 
a l>rivU(!ge wbdch often ocaisioued bloocUhed. 



CANTO v.] I-^T MINSTREU 77 

Around, the horsemen slo-svly rode ; 
With trailing pikes the spearmen trod ; 
And thus the gallant kniy'ht they bore. 
Through Liddesdale, to Leven's shore; 
Thence to Holme Coltrame's lofty nave, 
And laid him in his father's grave. 



The harp's ■wild notes, though hushed the 
The mimic march of death prolong ; 
Now seems it far, and now a-near, 
Now meets, and now eludes the" ear; 
Now stems some mountain side to sweep, 
Now faintly dies in valley deep ; 
Seems now as if the Minstrel's waiL, 
Now the sad requiem loads the gale; 
Last, o'er the warrior's closing grave. 
Rung the full choir in choral stave. 

After due pause, they bade him tell. 
Why he who touched the harp so wel^ 
Should thus, with ill-rewarded toit, 
Wander a poor aud thanldess soil, 
When the more generous southern land 
Would well requite his iikilful hand. 

The Aged Harper, howsoe'er 
His only friend, his harp, was dear. 
Liked n«t to hear it ranked so high 
Above his flowing poesy ; 
Less liked he still that scornful jeer 
Misprized the land, he loved so dear; 
High was the sound, as thus agam 
The Bard resumed his minstrd 



78 LAT OF THK CAXOO VI 



CANTO SIXTH. 

I. 

Breathes there the man, with uuul so deoA 
Who never to himself hath said, 

This is my own, my native land! 
Whose heart hath ne'er Av'thin hiin i urueu. 
As home his footsteps he hath tuji. •>..*, 

From wandering on ;. foieigii Ltiaiid .' 
If suc'lI there breathe, go, inark him well. 
For him no Minstrel * aptiir43 .-iwell : 
High though his titles, proud dir- name. 
Boundless his wealth as wish tan claim . 
Despita those titles, power, ami pelf 
The ^\Tetch, concentered all in ^.h' " 
Living, shall forfeit fair reno"v\'n, 
And, doubly dying, shall go down 
To the vile dust, from whence he sprm, 
Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung, 

U. 

Caledonia ! stem and wild. 

Meet nurse for a poetic child ! 

Land of bro^vn heath and shagg}' wood. 

Land of the mountain and the flood. 

Land of mj' sires ! what mortal hand 

Can e'er untie the filial band, 

That knits me to thy i-ugged strand ! 

Still, as I view each well-known scene, * 

Think what is now. and what hath been, 

Seems as, to me, of all bereft. 

Sole friends thy woods and streams were left. 

And thus I love them better stili. 

Even in extremity of ill. 

By Yarrow's stream still let me stray. 

Though none should guide my feeble way; 

Still feel the breeze down Ettricke break. 

Although it chill my withered cheek; 

Still lay my head by Teviot stono, 

Though there, forgotten and alone. 

The Bard may draw his parting groan. 



CAirrO VI.] LAST MINSTREL. 79 



Not scorned like me ! to Branksomo Hall 
e Minstrels came, at festive call ; 

rooping they came, from near and far, 

he jovdal priests of mirth and war ; j | 

Alike for feast and fight prepared, j 

Battle and banquet both they shared. )i 

Of late, before each martial clan, j j 

Taey blew their death-note in the van, ' ' 

But now, for every merry mate, 
Rose the portcullis' iron grate ; 
They sound the pipe, they strike the string, 
They dance, they revel, and they sing, 
Till the rude turrets shake and ring. 

IV. 

Me lists not at this tide declare 

The splendour of a spousal rite, 
How mustered in the chapel fair 

Both maid and matron, squire and knight ; 
Me lists not tell of owches rare. 
Of mantles green, and braided hair, 
And kirtles furred with miniver ; 
What plumage waved the altar round. 
How spurs, and'ringing chainlets, sound : 
And hard it were for bard to speak 
The changeful hue of Margaret's cheek ; 
That lovely hue, which comes and Hies, 
As awe and shame alternate rise ! 

V. 

Some bards have sung, the Ladye high 
Chapel or altar came not nigh ; 
Nor durst the rites of spousal grace, 
So much she feared each holy place. 
False slanders these : — I trust right well. 
She wrought not by forbidden spell ;■* 

« Popular belief, made a favourable distinction betwixt magi* 
dans,- and necromancers or wizards ; the former were supposed to 
command the evil spirits, and the latter to serve, or at least to be 
in lect^e with, tho&e enemies of maukind. 



eO LAY qP THE LCANTO Vt 

For mighty words and signs have power 
O'er sprites in plauetaiy hour : 
Yet scarce I praise their venturous part. 
Who tamper with such dangerous art. 

But this for faithful tnath I say: 
The Ladye hy the altar stood. 

Of sahle velvet her array. 

And on her head a crimson hood, 
With pearls embroidered and entwined. 
Guarded with gold, with ermine lined j 
A merlin sat upon her wrist. 
Held by a leash of silken twist.* 



The spousal rites were ended soon : 
'Twas now the merry hour of noon, 
And in the lofty arched hall 
Was spread the gorgeous festival. 
Steward and squire, with heedful haste, 
Marshalled the rank of every guest; 
I'ages, with ready blade, were there, 
The mighty meal to carve and share : 
O'er capon, heron-shew, and crane. 
And princely peacock's gilded train, , 
And o'er the boar-head, garnished brave, 
And cj-gnet from St Jlary's wave ;f' 
O'er ptarmigan and venison. 
The priest had spoke his benison. 
Then rose the riot and the din. 
Above, beneath, without, within ! 
For from the lofty balcony. 
Rung trumpet, shalm, and psaltery ; 



* A merlin, or sparrow-hawk, was nsually carried by ladiea cj 
ranlc, as a falcon was, in time of peace, by a knight or baron. 

t The peacock was considered, during chivalroun times, a dish 
of peculiar solemnity. It was introduced on days of grand fe«tivalj 
and was the signal for the adventurous knights to vow some 
perilous deed "before -the peacock and the ladies." The boar's 
liead was also a dish of feudal splendour. In Scotland it was 
sometimes surrounded with little banners, displaying the colours 
of the baron at whose boan'd it was served. St Mary's Lake, »t 
the head oi the river Yarrow, is often the resort of flights of wild 



SANTO VXJ LAST MINSTREL. 81 

Their clangjng bowls old warriors quaffed. 
Loudly they spoke, and loudly laughed ; 
Whispered young knights, in tone more mild. 
To ladies fair, and ladies smiled. 
The hooded hawks, high peinihed on heam. 
The clamour joined with whistling scream. 
And llap])ed their wings, and shook their bcllSj 
In conceit with the stag-hounds' yells. 
Round go the flasks of ruddy wine. 
From Bourdeaux, Orleans, or the Rhine; 
Their tasks the busy sewers ply, 
And all is mirth and revelry. 



The Goblin Page, omitting still 

No opportunity of ill. 

Strove now, while blood ran hot and higb. 

To rouse debate and jealousy ; 

Till Conrad, lord of Woifenstein, 

By nature fierce, and wai-ni with wine. 

And now in humour highly crossed. 

About some steeds his band had lost. 

High words to words succeeding still. 

Smote, with his gaimtlet, stuut lluuthill ; 

A hot and hardy Kutheiford, 

Wniom men called Dickon Draw-the-Sword.* 

He took it on the Page's saye, 

Plunthill had dnven these steeds away. 

Then Howard, Home, and Douglas rose. 

The kindling discord to compose : 

Stern Rutherford right little said. 

But bit his glove, and shook his head. — "f 

A fortnight thence, in Inglewood, 

Stout Conrad, cold, and drenched in blood. 

His l)osom gored with many a wound, 

Was by a woodman's lyme-dog found ; 

Unknown tKe manner of his death, 

Gone was his brand, both sword and sheath ; 

* The Rutherfords of Himthill were an ancient race of nnrdci 
lairds. Dickiin Draw-the-Sword wag son to the old warrioi, call- 
ed in tradition the Cock of HunthiU. 

+ To bite the thumb, or the srlove, seems to have been considereu, 
«pon the Border, as a pledge of murtai reveiuje. 

d2 



89 LAY OF THE LCA^N'O •»/ 

Bttt ever from that time, 'twas said, 
ITiat Dickon wore a Cologne blade. 



The Dwarf, who feared his master's ey© 

Might his foul treachery espie. 

Now sought the castle butteiy. 

Where many a yeoman, bold and free, 

Revelled as merrily and well i 

As those, that sat in lordly selle. 

Watt Tinliun, there, did frankly raise 

The pledge to Arthur Fire-the-Braes;* , 

And he, as by his breeding bound, 

To Howard's merry-men sent it roimd. | 

To quit them, on the English side, I 

Red Roland Forster loudly cried, 

" A deep carouse to yon fair bride !'* 

At every pledge, from vat and pail. 

Foamed forth, in floods, the nut-brown ale; ' 

While shout the riders every one. 

Such day of mirth ne'er cheered their clan. 

Since old Buccleuch the name did gain, 

WTien in the cleuch the buck was ta'en-+ 

IX. 

The wily Page, with vengeful thought, 

Remembered him of Tinlinn's yew, 
And swore, it should be dearly bought. 

That ever he the arrow di'ew. 
First, he the yeoman did molest. 
With bitter gibe and taunting jest ; 

Told, how he fled at Sohvay strife, ^ ^ j 

And how Kob Armstrong cheered his wife 

Then, shunning still his powerful arm, ! 

At unawares he wi-ought him harm ; 

» The person bearing this r(»donbtab!e«omnie de tjuerrt, wtm an 
Elliot, and resideil at Thorleshope, in Liddesdale. He occuM ia 
the list of Bolder riders, in 1507. 

+ The old Scottish tradition is, that the founder of the Biiccleach 
femily was a (rHlwegiau exile, who ran down and secured a buck, 
which had thrown out Keuunth Macaluine and »li hi» boduh' in 
the chaoe. I 



CAi^CO VLJ 



LAST MINSTREL. 83 



From trencher stole hia choicest cheer. 

Dashed from his lips his can of beer, 

Then, to his knee sly creeping on, 

With bodkin pierced him to the bone : 

The venoraed wound, and festering joint. 

Long after rued that bodkin's point. 

The startled yeoman swore and spurned. 

And board and flaggons overturned; 

Riot and clamour wild began ; 

Back to the hall the urchin ran ; 

Took in a darkling nook his post, 

And grinned and muttered, " Lost I lost I lost T 

X. 

By this, the Dame, lest further fray 

Should mar the concord of the day, 

Had bid the Minstrels tune their lay. 

And first stept forth old Albert Graeme, 

The Minstrel of that ancient name : 

"Was none who struck the harp so -well, 

Within the land Debateable ; 

Well friended too, his hardy kin, 

Whoever lost, were sure to win ; 

They sought the beeves, that made their broth, 

In Scotland a»d in England both. 

In homely guise, as nature bade,^ 

His simple song the Borderer said. 



ALBERT GRJBME. 

It -was an English ladye bright. 

The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall. 

And she would marry a Scottish knight, 
For Love will still be lord of all^ 

Blithely they saw the rising sun. 
When he shone fair on Carlisle wall. 

But they were sad ere day was done. 
Though Love was still the lord of alL 

Her sire gave brooch and jewel fine,^ 
Where the sua shines fair on Carlisle wall ;, 






84 ■ LAY OP THE 

Her brother gave but a flask of wine, 
For ire that Love was lord of all. 

For she had lands, both meadow and lee, 
Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall. 

And he swore her death, ere he would see 
A Scottish knight the lord of ail ! 

XII. 
That wine she had not tasted w^ell, 

The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall ; 
When dead, in her true love's anns, she fell. 

For Love was still the lord of alh 

He pierced her brother to the heart, 

\\ here the eun shines fair on Carlisle wall;- 

80 perish all, would tine love part, 
That Love may still be lord of all 1 

And then he took the cross divine. 

Where the sun shines lair on Carlisle wall. 

And died for her sake in Palestine, 
So Love was still the lord of aU, 

Now all ye lovers, that faithful prove. 
The sun shines fair on Cnriisle wall, 

for their souls, who died for love,« 
For Love shall still be lord of all ! 



[CA>TO VI 



^J. 



Ab ended Albert's simple lay, 

Arose a bard of loftier port; 
For sonnet, rhime, and roundelay, 

Renowned in haughty Henry's court: 
There rung thy harp, unrivalled long, 
Fit/.traver of the silver song. 

The gentle Suqipy loved his IjTe — 
Who has not heard of Surrey'^; fame? 

His was the hero's soul of fire, 

And his the bard's immortal name, 
And his was love, exalted high 
By all the glow of chivalry.* 

• Hftnry Ho»raril, E.irl of Surrey, the most acrompUnhed oavaliei 
of Ui3 tiioe, veaa beheaded ou TowerhUl in 1M6 ; a victim to tba 



CAHTO^IO 



LAST MINSIKEL. 66 



XIV. 

They sought, together, climes afar, 

And ott, within some olive grove, 
When evening came, with twinkling star, 

They sung of Surrey's absent love. 
His step the Italian peasant staid, 

And deemed, tliat spirits from on high. 
Round where some hermit saint was laid. 

Were breathing heavenly melody; 
So sweet did harp and voice combine 
To praise the name of Geraldine. 

XV. 

Fitztraver ! O what tongue may sa 1 

The pangs thy faithful bosom knew, 
When Surrey, of the deathless lay. 

Ungrateful Tudor's sentence slew? 
Regardless of the tjTant's frown. 
His harp called wrath and vengeance down. 
He left, for Naworth's iron towers, 
Windsor's green glades, and courtly bowers. 
And, faithful to his patron's name, 
With Howard still Fitztraver came; 
Lord William's foremost favourite he. 
And chief of all his giinstrelsy. 



FITZTRAVER. 
'Twas All-Eoul's eve, and Surrey's heart beat high \ 

He heard the midnight-bell with anxious start, 
Wliich told the mystic hour, approaching nigh. 

When wise Cornelius promised, by his art, 
To show to him the ladye of his heart. 

Albeit betwixt them roared the ocean grim; 
Yet so the sage had hight to play his part, 

mean jealousy of Henry VHIT. It U said that in hi« travel», Cor- 
aelius Agrippa, tlm celebrated alchemist, Hliowed him, in a look- 
ing-glass, the lovely Geraldiiie, to whose service he had devotod 
his pen and liis 8%vord. The vision represented ber as indisposed, 
and recUued upun a couch, reading -her lover'i versei by the light 
of a waxen taper. j 

I 



gg LAY OF THE CCANTO Vl. 

That he should see her form in life and limb. 
And mark, if still she loved, and still she thought 
of him. 

XYII. 

Dark was the vaulted room of gramarye, 

To which the wizard led the gallant knight. 
Save that before a mirror, hugs and high, 

A hallowed taper shed a glimmering light 
On mystic implements of magic might. 

On cross, and character, and talisman, 
And almagest, and altar, nothing bright : 

For titful was the lustre, pale and wan. 
As watch-light, by the bed of some departing num. 

XVIII, 

But soon, within that mirror, huge and high, 

"Was seen a self-emitted light to gleam ; 
And fonns upon its breast the earl 'gan spy, 

Cloudy and indistinct, as feverish di-eam ; 
Till, slow arranging, and defined, they seem 

To form a loidly and a lofty room. 
Part lighted by a lamp with silver beam. 

Placed by a couch of Agra's silken loom. 
And part by moonshine pale, and part was hid S3 
gloom. 

XIX. * 

Fair all the pageant — but how passing fair 

The slender form, which lay on couch oi Ind ! 
O'er her white bosom strayed her hazel hair. 

Pale her dear cheek, as if for love she pined ; 
All in her night-robe loose, she lay reclined, 

And, pensive, read from tablet eburnine 
Some strain, that seemed her inmost soul to find : — 

I'hat favpured strain was Surrey's raptured line, 
rhat fair and lovely form, the Ladye Geraldine. 



Slow rolled the clouds upon the lovely form, 
And swept the goodly vision all away — 

So royal envj rolled tho murky stonn 
O'er ny beloved I^Iaster's glorious day. 



CASTO Vl] LAST MINSTREL, ^ 87 

Thou jealous, ruthless tyrant ! Heaven repay 
On thee, and on thy children's latest line, . 

The wild caprice of thy despotic sway. 
The gory hridal bed, the plundered shrine. 
The murdered Surrey's blood, the tears of Geraldino 



Both Scots, and Southern chiefs, prolong 
Applauses of Fitztraver's song : 
These hated Henry's name as death, 
And those still held the ancient faith. — 
Then, from his seat, with lofty air, 
Rose Harold, bard of brave St Clair ; 
St Clair, who, feasting high at Home, 
Had with that Lord to battle come. 
Harold was bom where restless seas 
Howl round the storm-swept Orcades ; 
Where erst St Clairs held princely sway. 
O'er isle and islet, strait and bay ; — 
Still nods their palace to its fall. 
Thy pride and sorrow, fair Kirkwall ! — * 
Thence oft he marked fierce Pentland ravo, 
As if grim Odinn rode her wave ; 
And watched, the whilst, with visage pale 
And throbbing heart, the struggling sail *, 
For all of wonderful and wild 
Had rapture for the lonely child. 

XXII. 

And much of wild and wonderful, 
Li these rude isles, might Fancy cxUl ; 

* The St Clairs are of Norman extraction, -who, lettlingin Scot, 
land during the reign of Malcolm Ceanmore, obtained large jj^rantj 
of land ii» ^fid- Lothian.— These domains were increased by the 
liberality of succeeding monarchs, to the descendants of the family, 
and compreh inded the baronies of Kosline, Pent;and, Cowsland, 
Cardaine, and several others. . In 1379 the chief of the family waj 
created Karl of Oi kiiey in right of his mother the daughter of the 
last Karl, by Haco King of Norivay, which title was recognised by 
th<J Kiikj^s of Scotland and remained with his successors until it 
was annexed to tiie Cro»-n. in 1+71, by act of parliament, Tha 
castle of Kirkwall was built by the St Clairs, and in exchange for 
the earldom of Orkney the castle and domains of Ravenscraig, or 
Ravensheucb, were conferred on William Saintclair, Earl oJ 
CaithiiesA, 



88 LAY OF THE CCANTO VW 

For thither came, in times afar, 

Stern Lochlin's sons of roving war, 

The Norsemen, trained to spoil and blood. 

Skilled to prepare the raven's food ; 

fciiigs of the main their leaders brave, 

Their barks the dragons of the wave.* 

And there, in many a stormy vale, 

The Scald had told' his wondrous tale ; 

And many a Runic column high 

Had witnessed grim idolatrj'. 

And thus had Harold, in his youth. 

Learned many a Saga's rhime uncouth. 

Of that Sea-Snake, tremendous curled. 

Whose monstrous circle girds the world ; 

Of those dread Maids, whose hideous yell 

Maddens the battle's bloody swell ;+ 

Of chiefs, who, guided through the gloom 

By the pale death-lights of the tomb. 

Ransacked the graves of warriors old. 

Their faulchions wrenched from corpses' hold. 

Waked the deaf tomb with wap's alarms, 

And bade the dead arise to arms \X 

With war and wonder all on flame. 

To Roslin's bowers young Harold came. 

Where, by sweet glen and greenwood tree, 

He learned a milder minstrelsy ; 

Yet something of the Northei-u spell 

Mixed with the softer numbers welL 



HAROLD. 

- ) listen, listen, ladies gay ! 

No haughty feat of arms I tell : 

• The cbieft of the ftkingr or Scandinavian pirates, asfnnvcd 
the title of Stekonungr, or Sea--kiiigs. Sliipg, in the hiliated liin- 
giiagH of the Scalds, are often tenned the serpents of the oce^n. 

+ Thejovmungnndr, or Snake of the Ocean, whose folds surround 
the eartli, is one of the wildest fictions of the old northern mytho- 
logy. The dread Maidc were the ValkyHur, or Selectors of the 
Slain, despatched by Odin from Valhahi, to choose those who were 
to die, and to distribute the contest. They are well known to tha 
English reader, as Gray's Fatal Sisters. 

X The northern warriors were usually entombed with their 
arms, and their other treasures. The ghosts of these warriora 
were not wont tamely to suffer their tombs to be jilundered ; aud 
hence the mortal heroes had an addirioual temotEition to attempt 



CANTO M.3 LASPr MINSTREL. W 

Soft is the note, and sad the lay, 
That mourns the lovely .Rosabelle.* 

— " Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew ! 

And, gentle ladye, deign to stay ! 
Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch,f 

Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. 

** The blackening wave is edged with white ; 

To inch J and rock the sea-mews fly ; 
The fishers have heard the Water Sprite, 

Whose screams forebode that ^vreck is nigh. 

" Last night the gifted seer did view 
A wet «hroud swathed roimd ladye gay ; 

Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch : 
Why cross the gloomy firth to-day !" 

" 'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir 

To-night at Roslin leads the ball, 
But that my Ladye-mother there 

Sits lonely in her castle-hall. 

" 'Tis not because tlie ring they ride. 

And Lindesay at the ring rides weU, 
But that my sire the wine will chide. 

If 'tis not filled by RosabeUe." 

XXIV. 

O'er Roslin all that dreary night 

A wonderous blaze was seen to gleam ; 

'Twas broader than the watch-fire light. 
And redder than the bright moon-beam. 

It glared on Roslin's castled rock. 

It ruddied all the copse-wood glen ; 
'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak, 

And seen from caverned Ha^^'thomdeIL 

such adventtires ; for tliey held nothing more worth; of tboir 
valour than to encounter supernatural beinars. 

* This was a family name in the house 6? St Clair. Henry St 
Clair, the second of the line, married Eosabelle, fourth daughter 
of the Earl of Stratherne, 

t A large and strong castle, now ruinous, situated betwixt 
Kirkaldy and Dyaturt, oa a steep crag, washed by the Firtb ol 
Fbrth. 

J Jnth, /rf* 



90 ^ LAY OF THK [CANl'D Tk 

Seemed all on fire that chapel proud, 

^\'here Roslin's chiefs uncofliued lie} 
Each Baron, for a sable shroud, 

Sheathed in his iron panoply.* 

Seemed all on fire within, around. 

Deep sacristy and altar's paie ; 
Shone eve]7 pillar foliage-bound, 

And glimmered all the dead men's inaiL 

Blitzed hattlement and pinnet high, 

Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair — 

So still they blaze, when fate is nigh 
The lordly line of high St Clair. 

There are twenty of Roslin's barons hold 
Lie buried within that proud chapelle ; 

Each one the holy vault doth hold — 
But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle. 

And each St Clair was huried there. 

With candle, with book, and with knell; 

But the sear caves rung, and the wild winds Btuig^ 
The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. 

XXV. 

So sweet was Harold's piteous lay, 

Scarce marked the guests the darkened hall, 
Though, long before the sinking dayj 

A wonderous shade involved them all : 
It was not eddying mist or fog. 
Drained by the sun from fen or bog ; 

Of no eclipse had sages told ; 
And yet, as it came on apace. 
Each one could scarce his neighbour's face. 

Could scarce his own stretched hand, belxold. 
A secret horror checked the feast. 
And chilled the soul of every guest ; 

• The beautiful chapel of Roslin is still in toleraoie preBP-Tratioi*, 
It waa fouuded in 1446 liy 'WilUaui St Clair, Prince of OiKney, 
Ac,< *c., who built the castle o) Hnsliii, where he lesiaed tD 
princely splendour. The chapel i»i said to appear on tire'previ* m 

. ihe death of any of his descendants. The Barons of KogUu were 
a vault beneath the chapel flooi. 



CANTO VI.J 



lasT minstrel. 91 



Even tlie high Dame stood half aghast. 

She knew some evil on the hlast ; 

The elvish Page fell to the ground. 

And, shuddering, muttered, "• Found ! found ! found !" 

XXVI. 

Then sudden through the darkened air 

A flash of lightning came ; 
So broad, so bright, so red the glare, 

The castle seemed on flame; 
Glanced every rafter of the hall. 
Glanced eveiy shield upon the wall ; 
Each trophied beam, each sculptured stone, 
Were instant seen, and instant gone ', 
Full through the guests' bedazzled band 
Resistless flashed the levin-brand, 
And filled the hall v.ith smouldering smoke, 
As on the elvish Page it broke. 

It broke, with thunder long and loud, 

Dismayed the brave, appalled the proud. 
From sea to sea the larum rung ; 

On Berwick wall, and at Carlisle withal, 
To arms the startled warders spiling. 
V\''hen ended was the dreadful roar. 
The elvish Dwarf was seen no more ! 

XXVII. 

Some heard a voice in Branksome Hall, 
Some saw a sight, not seen by all ; 
That dreadful voice was heard by some, 
Cry, with loud summons, "'Gylbin, comeT' 

And on the spot where burst the brand, 
Just where the Page had flung him down, 

Some saw an arm, and some a hand. 
And some the waving of a gown. 
The guests in silence prayed and shook, 
And terror dimmed each lofty look : 
But none of all the aitouished trai/" 
Was so dismayed as Dcloraiue ; 
His blood did freeze, his brain did t>«..ni, 
T-vy-as feared his mind would ne'er return; 



92 



tAT OP THE 



[CAWTO VI 



For be was speeclilesg, gliastly, wan, 
Like him, of whom the story ran, 
Who spoke the spectre-hound in Man.* 
At length, by hts, he darkly told, 
With broken hint, and shuddering cold- 
That he had seen, right certainly, 
A shape ivith amice tvrapped around, 
With a wrought Spanish baldric bounds 
Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea; 
And knew — but how it mattered not— 
It was the wizard, Michael Scott. 



The anxious crowd, with horror pale, 
All trembling, heard the wonderous tale : 

No sound was made, no word was spoke, 

Till noble Angus silence broke ; 
And he a solemn sacred plight 

Did to St Bryde of Douglas make,+ 

That he a pilgrimage would take 

To Melrose Abbey, for the sake 
Of Michael's restless sprite. 
Then each, to ease his troubled breast, 
To some blessed saint his prayers addressed— 
Some to St Modan made their vows, 
Some to St Mary of the Lowes, 
Some to the Holy Rood of Lisle, 
Some to our Lady of the Isle ; 
Each did his patron witness make. 
That he such pilgrimage would take. 
And monks should sing, and bells should toll, 
All for the weal of Michael's soul. 
While vows were ta'en, and prayers were prayed, 
'Tis said the noble Dame, dismayed. 
Renounced, for aye, dark magic's aid. 



* Called in the Manx langnag-e the Mauthe Doog. The story b 
'.bat a fool-hardy person who would question thisphar torn, recev\ed 
sucli a shock from the inter^'iew, that he remained bpeechleis till 
his death, which happened only three days aftor. 

y This was a favourite saint of the house of Douglas, and of tbe 
Barl of Angus, in particular 



CAMTO VIJ LAST MINSTREL. 

XXIX. 

Nought of the bridal will I tell. 
Which after in short space befell ; 
Nor how brave sons and daughters fair 
Blessed Teviot's Flower and Cranstoune's heir 
After such dreadful scene, 'twere vain ^ 
To wake the note of mirth again ; 

More meet it were to mark the day 
Of penitence and prayer divine, 

When pilgrim-chiefs, in sad array. 
Sought Melrose holy shrine. 

XXX. 

With naked foot, and sackcloth vest. 
And arms enfolded on his breast, 

Did every pilgrim go ; 
The standers-by might hear uneath, 
Footstep, or voice, or high-drawn breath, 

Through all the lengthened row : 
No lordly look, no martial stride, 
Gone was their glory, sunk their pride, 

Forgotten their renown ; 
Silent and slow, like ghosts, they glide 
To the high altar's hallowed side, 

And there they kneeled them down; 
Above the suppliant chieftains wave 
The banners of departed brave ; 
Beneath the lettered stones were laid 
The ashes of their fathers dead ; 
From many a garnished niche around. 
Stem saints, and tortured martjTS, frowned. 

XXXI. 

And slow up the dim aisle afar. 
With sable cowl and scapular, 
And snow-white stoles, in order due, 
The holy Fathers, two and two. 

In long procession came ; 
Taper, and host, and book they bare, 
iLad holy banner, flourished fair 

With the Redeemer's name; 






Vi LAY OF THB 

Above the prostraje pilgrim band 
The mitred Abbot stretched his hand, 

And blessed them as they kneeled ; 
With holy cross he signed them all, 
And prayed they might be sage in hall. 

And fortunate in held. 
Then mass was sung, and prayers were sesid, 
And solemn requiem for the dead ; 
And bells tolled out their mighty peal. 
For the departed spirit's weal; 
And ever in the ofhce close 
The h}Tnn of intercession rose ; 
And far the echoing aisles prolong 
The awful burthen of the song, — 
Dies irte, dies illa, 
solvet s.eclum in favilla; 
While the pealing organ rang ; 

Were it meet with sacred strain 

To close my lay, so light and vaia, 
Thus the holy Fathers sung. 

HYMN FOB THE DEAD. 

That day of wratli, that dreadful day. 
When heaven and earth shall pass away. 
"WTiat power shall be the sinner's stay ? 
How shall he meet that dreadful day ? 
When, shrivelling like a parched scroll. 
The flaming heavens together roll ; 
When louder yet, and yet more dread, 
Swells the high trump that wakes the dead ; 
! on that day, that v.Tathiul day, 
When man to judgment wakes from clay, 
Be Thou the trembling sinner's stay, 
'hough heaven and earth shall pass away I 



Hushed is the harp— the Minstrel gone. 

And did he wander forth alone ? 

Alone, in indigence and age. 

To linger out his pilgrimage ? 

No — close beneath proud Newark's tower, 

Arose the Minstrel's lowly bower ; 



CANTO VI.j LAST MINSTREL. 95 

A simple hut ; but there was seen 
The little gardeu hedged with green, 
The cheeiful hearth, aud lattice clean. 
There sheltered wanderers, by the blaMj 
Oft beard the tale of other days ; 
For much he loved to ope his door, 
And give tlie aid he begged before. 
So passed the winter's day; but still. 
When summer smiled on sweet liowhill, 
Aud July's eve, with balnily breath. 
Waved the blue-hells ou Newark-heath; 
When throstles sung in Hare-head shaw. 
And corn was green on Carterhaiigh, 
And Hourished, broad, Biackandro's oak, 
The aged Harper's soul awoke! 
Then would he sing achievements high. 
And circumstance of chivalry, 
Till the lapt traveller would stay, 
Forsjetful of the closing day; 
A;ia nohle youths, the strain to hear, 
Forsook the hunting of the deer; 
And Yarrow, as he roiled along, 
.Bore burden to the Miustrel's song. 



=# 



M A R M I N, 



TALE OP FIODDEN FfELD 

IN SIX CANTOf^ 



4i.ASl THAT SCOTTISH MAID SHOULD SINO 
THE COMBAT WHERE HER LOVER FELL ! 
HAT SCOTTISH BARD SHOULD WAKE THE STRINi* 
THE TRIUMPH OF OUR FOES TO TELL ! — LE"SnR.1 



TO 

THE illGHT HONOURABLE 

HENRY, LORD MONTAGUE 

^C. ifC. ifC. 

mis ROMANCE IS INSCRIBED BY THE AmHOR 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



It Is hardly to be expected, that an Author whom tha 
PubHc has honoured with some degree of applause 
sliould not be again a trespasser on their kindness. 
Yet the Author of Marmion must be supposed to feei 
some anxiety concerning ite success, since he is 
sensible that he hazards, by this second intrusion, 
any reputation whicli his fast Poem may have pro- 
cured liim. The present Story turns upon the private 
adventures of a fictitious character ; but is called a 
Tale of Flodden Field, because the hero's fate is con- 
nected with that memorable defeat, and tlie causes 
winch led to it. The design of the Author was, if 
possible, to apprise his readers, at tiie outset, of the 
date of his Story, and to prepare them for the man- 
ners of the Age in wliich it is laid. Any historical 
narrative, far more an attempt at Epic composition, 
exceeded his plan of a Romantic Tale ; yet he may be 
permitted to hope, from the popularity of The Lay 
OF THE Last Minstrel, that an attempt to pain 
the manners of the feudal times, upon a broadei 
scale, and in the course of a more interesting story, 
will not be unacceptable to the Pubhc. 

The 'Poem opens about the commencement of 
August, and concludes with the defeat of Flodden^ 
4lU September, 1513 



M A R M I O Bi 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRSTT. 

To William Stewart Rose, Esij. 

Asfiesiid, Eitricke Pbirti 

jiOVEMBER's sky IS chill and drear, 
November's leaf is red and sear : 
Late, gazing down the steepy liita, 
That hems our little garden in. 
Low in its dark and narrow glen. 
You scarce the rivulet might ken, 
So thick the tangled green-wood grew, 
So feeble trilled the streamlet through : 
Now, murmuring hoarse, and frequent seen 
Through bush and brier, no longer green. 
An angry brook, it sweeps the glade, 
Brawls over rock and wild cascade. 
And, foaming brown with doubled speed, 
Hurries its waters to the Tweed, 

No longer Autumn's glowing red ^^ 
Upon our Forest hills is shed ; M , * : 
No more, beneath the evening beam, ^' 
Fair Tweed reJiects their purple gleam ; '• 
Away hath passed the heather-bell, ir 
That bloomed so rich on Needpath-fell ; "" 
Sallow his brow, and russet bare /j 
Are now the sister-heights of Yare. v 
The sheep, before the pinching heaven, ;. 
To sheltered dale and down are driven, 
^Tiere yet some faded herbage pines. 
And yet a watery sun-beam shines : 
In meek despondency they eye 
The withered sward aoid wintry sky, » 



100 MARMioN. ccAirro I 

And far beneath their summer hill, 
Stray sadly by Glenlcinnon's rill : 
The shepherd shifts his mantle's fold. 
And wraps him closer from the cold ; 
His dogs no men-v clrcbs wheel, 
But, shivering, follow at his heel ; 
A cowering glance they often cast. 
As deeper moans the gathering blast. 

My imps, though hardy, bold, and wild, 
As best befits the mountain child. 
Feel the sad influence of the hour. 
And wail the daisy's vanished flower ; 
I'heir summer gambols tell, and mourn. 
And anxious ask, — Will spring return, 
And birds and lambs again be gay. 
And blossoms clothe the hawthorn spny? 

Yes, prattlers, yes. The daisy's flower 
Again shall paint your summer bower; 
Again the hawthorn shall supply 
The garlands you delight to tie; 
The Iambs upon the lea shall bound. 
The wild birds carol to the roimd. 
And while you frolic light as they, 
Too short shall seem the summer day. 

/ To mute and to material things 
\ New life revoh-ing summer brings ; 

The genial call dead Nature hears. 

And in her glory re-appears. 

But O ! my country's v/intry state 

What second spring shall renovate ? 

^Vhat powerful call shall bid arise 

The buried warlike, and the wise ; 

The mind, that thought for Britain's wool, 

The hand, that grasped the victor steel? 

The vernal sun new life bestows 

Even on the meanest flower that blows ; 

But vainly, vainly, may he shine. 

Where Glory weeps o'er Nelson's shrine; 
: And vainly pierce the solemn gloom, 

That shrouds, O Pitt, thy hallowed tomb ! 



CANTO I.] MARMION. 101 

Deep graved in everj British heart, 
never let those names depart ! 
Say to your sons, — Lo, here his grave, 
Who victor died on Gadite wave; 
To him, as to the burning levin, 
Short, bright, resistless course was given ; 
. VVlw-Te'er his country's foes were found, 
WaH, heard the fated thunder's sound, 
Till burst the bolt on yonder shore, 
Rciisd, blazed, destroyed, — ^and was no more. 

Nor mourn ye less his perished worth, 
Who hade the conquerer go forth. 
And launched that thunderbolt of war 
On Eg)-pt, Hafnia,* Trafalgar ; 
A^'ho, born to guide such high emprize, 
For Britain's weal was early wise ; 
Alas ! to whom the Almighty gave, 
For Britain's sins, an early grave ; 
His worth, who, in his mightiest hour, 
A bauble held the pride of power, 
Spurned at the sordid lust of pelf. 
And served his Albion for herself; 
Who, when the frantic crowd amain 
Strained at subjection's bursting rein, 
O'er their wild mood full conquest gained. 
The prid'3, he would not crush, restrained, 
Showed their fierce zeal a worthier cause, [laws. 
And brought the freeman's arm to aid the heema3l*t 

Had'st thou hut lived, though stripped of power, 
A watchman on the lonely tower. 
Thy thrilling trump had roused the land. 
When fraud or danger were at hand; 
By thee, as by the beacon-light, 
Our pilots had kept course aright; 
As some proud column, though alone. 
Thy strength had propp'd the tottering throiMu 
Now is the stately column broke. 
The beacon-light is quenched in smoke, 
The trumpet's silver sound is stilJ 
The warder silent on the hill ! 

• Copenhagen. 



102 HARMION, [CANTO t 

Ob, think, how to his latest day, 
When Death, just hovering, claimed his prey, 
With Palinure's unaltered mood, 
Fimi at his dangerous post he stood 
Each call for needful rest repelled, 
With dying hand the rudder held. 
Till, in his fall, with fateful sway, 
The steerage of the realm gave way ! 
Then, while on Britain's thousand plains, 
One unpolluted church remains, 
Whose peaceful bells ne'er sent around 
The bloody tocsin's maddening sound. 
But still, upon the hallowed day. 
Convoke the swains to praise and pray ; 
While faith and civil peace are dear, 
Grace this cold marble with a tear, — 
He, who preserved them, PiTT, lies here! 

Nor yet suppress the generous sigh. 
Because his Rival slumbers nigh; 
Nor be thy reqiiicfcat dumb. 
Lest it be said o'er Fox's tomb. 
For talents mourn, untim.ely lost. 
When best employed, and wanted most ; 
Mourn genius high, and lore profound. 
And wit that loved to play, not wound; 
And all the reasoning powers divine, 
To penetrate, resolve, combine ; 
And feelings keen, and fancy's glow, — 
They sleep with him who sleeps below; 
And, if thou mourn' st they could not save 
From error him who o^vns this grave, 
Be every harsher thought suppressed, 
And sacred be the last long rest. 
Here, where the end of earthly things 
Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings ; 
Where stiff the hand, and still the tongue. 
Of those who fought, and spoke, and suog \ 
Here, where the fretted aisles prolong 
The distant notes of holy song, 
As if some angel spoke agen. 
All peace on earth, good- will to men; 
If ever from an English heart, 
O here let prejudice depart, 



OANTO 11 MARSIION. 

And. partial feeling cast aside, 
Rec^ord, that Fox a Briton died ! 
\Vli8U Europe crouched to F" ranee's yoke;, 
And Austria bent, and Prussia broke, 
And the firm Russian's purpose brave 
Was bartered by a timorous slave, 
Eren then dishonour's peace he spurnetl, 
Tile sullied olive-branch returned, 
Stood for his country's glory fast. 
And nailed her colours to the mast. 
Heaven, to reward his tinnuess, gave, 
A portion in this honoured grave; 
And ne'er held marble in its trust 
Of two such wondrous men the dust. 

With more than mortal powers endow'ed, 
How high they soared above the crowd ! 
Theirs v.'as no common party race. 
Jostling by dark intrigue for place ; 
Like fabled Crods, their mighty war 
Shook realms and nations in its jar ; 
Beneath each banner proud to stand. 
Looked up the noblest of the land. 
Till through the British world were known 
The names of Pitt and Fox alone. 
Sjiells of such force no wizard grave 
E'er framed in dark Thessalian cave, 
Though his could drain the ocean dry. 
And force the planets from the sky. 
Thes;e spells are spent, and, spent with these. 
The wine of life is on the lees. 
Genius, and taste, and talent gone, 
For ever tombed beneath the stone, 
Where,- -taming thought to human pride! — 
Tlie mighty chiefs sleep side by side. 
Drop upon Fox^ grave the tear, 
Twill trickle to his rival's bier; 
O'er Pitt's the moufnful requiem soimd. 
And Fox's shall the notes rebound. 
1'he solemn ec'no seems to cry, — 
"Here let their discord with them die; 
** Speak not for those a separate doom, 
** Whom Fate made brothers in the tomb. 



J 03 



104 UASMION. ICAXnO X 

** But search the land of living men, 

•» Where wilt thou find their like agen?" 

Rest, ardent Spirits ! till the cries 
Of dying Nature bid you rise ; 
Not even your Britain's groans can pierce 
The leaden silence of your hearse : 
Then, O how impotent and vain 
This grateful tributary strain ! 
Though not unmarked from northern clime, 
Ye heard the Border Minstrel's rhyme : 
His Gothic harp has o'er you rung ; 
The bard you deigned to praise, your deathless namefl 
has sung. 

Stay yet, illusion, stay a while, 
My wildered fancy still beguile ! 
From this high theme how can I part, 
Ere half unloaded is my heart ! 
For all the tears e'er sorrow drew, 
And all the raptures fancy knew, 
And all the keener rush of blood. 
That throbs through bard in bard-like mood. 
Were here a tribute mean and low. 
Though all their mingled streams could flow — 
Woe, wonder, and sensation high, 
In one spring-tide of ecstasy. — 
It will not be — it may not last — 
The vision of enchantment's past : 
Like frost-work in the mornmg ray, 
The fancied fabric melts away ; 
Each Gothic arch, memorial stone, 
And long, dim, lofty aisle are gone. 
And, lingering last, deception dear. 
The choir's high sounds die on my ear. 
Now slow return the lonely down. 
The silent pastures bleak and brown. 
The farm begirt with copse-wood -wild, 
The gambols of each frolic chil3. 
Mixing their shrill cries with the tone 
Of Tweed's dark waters rushing on. 

Prompt on unequal tasks to run. 
Thus Nature disciplines her son : 



CAICTO L] BIARMION. 105 

Meeter, she says, for me to stray, 

And waste the solitary day, 

In plucking from yon fen the reed, 

And watching it float down the T-wesd ', 

Or idly list the shrilling lay 

^S'ith which the milk-maid cheers her WAJ, 

Marking its cadence rise and fail. 

As from the field, beneath her pail. 

She trips it down the uneven dale : 

Meeter for me, by yonder cairn, 

The ancient shepherd's tale to leam, 

Though oft he stop in rustic fear, 

Lest his old legends tire the ear 

Of one, who, in his simple mind. 

May boast of book-learned taste refined. 

But thou, my friend, canst fitly tell, 
(^For few have read romance so well) 
How still the legendary lay 
O'er poet's bosom holds its sway; 
How on the ancient minstrel strain 
Time lays his palsied hai.d in vain ; 
And how our hearts at doughty deeds, 
By warriors wrought in steely weeds. 
Still throb for fear and pity's sake ; 
As when the Champion of the Lake 
Enters Morgana's fated house, 
Or in the Chapel Perilous, 
Despising spells and d ^mons' force. 
Holds converse with the unburied corse; 
Or when. Dame Gauore's grace to mova, 
(Alas ! that lawless was their love) 
He sought proud Tarquin In his den. 
And fieed full sixty knights ; or when, 
A. sinful man, and unconfessed. 
He took the Sangreal's hcJy quest. 
And, shmibering, saw the vision high, 
He might not view with waking eye.* 

The mightiest chiefs of British song 
Scorned not such legends to prolong : 

♦ These allusions refer to the adventiii es of Sir Laimcelot of ^ 
Cake ao agreeably told in the old roiuajice of the Mort* / " 
£ 2 



105 



[CANTO i 



They gleam through Spenser's elfin dream, 

And mix in Milton s heavenly theme ; 

And Drj'den, in immortal strain, 

Had raised the Table Round again,* 

But that a ribald king and court 

Bade him toil on, to make them pport ; 

Demanded for their niggard pay, 

i''it for their souls, a looser lay, 

i'j'icentious satire, song, and play ; 

The world defrauded of the high design, [lofty line. 

Profaned the God-given strength, and marreJ tlw 

Warmed by such names, well may we thea, 
Though dwindled sons of little men. 
Essay to break a feeble lance 
In the fair fields of old romance ; 
Or seek the moated castle's cell, 
"Where long through talisman and spell, 
While tyrants ruled, and damsels wept, 
Thy Genius, Chivalry, hath slept : 
There sound the harpings of the North, 
Till he awake and saUy forth, 
On venturous quest to prick again, 
lu all his arras, ^vith all his train. 
Shield, lance, and brand, and plume, and seari^ 
Fay, giant, dragon, squire, and dwarf, 
And wizard with his wand of might. 
And errant maid on palfrey white. 
Around the Genius weave their spells, 
Pure Love, who scarce his passion tella , 
Mystery, half veiled and half revealed ; 
And Honour, with his spotless shield ; 
Attention, with fixed eye ; and Fear, 
That loves the tale she shrinks to h<^ar ; 
And gentle Com-tesy ; and Faith, 
■ Unchanged by sufferings, time, or death ; 

* Dryden bad projected an epic poem, the subject of wliich wm 
to have been the exploits of king Arthur ; and had he been eiuk> 
bled to accomplish such a work, it would have been luidoiibtedly 
a glorious moniunent of English genius, as well as record of En» 
elish heroism. But the ingratitude of Charles II., and his cour> 
ti«rs, by «'hom he was abandoned to poverty and neglect, obliged 
him to labour for his jpresent M-axita, aud tho schema was unfor 
lunately abandoned. 



i • 



CANTO r.] MARMION. 107 

And Valour, Hon-mettled lord, 
Leaning upon his own good sword. 

Well has thy fair achievement shown, 
A worthy meed may thus be won; 
Ytene's* oaks — beneath whose shade 
Their theme the merry minstrels made, 
Of Ascapart, and Be%-is bold,t 
And that Red King, J who, while of old 
Througli Boldrewood the chase he led. 
By his loved huntsman's arrow bled — 
Ytene's oaks have heard again 
Renewed such legendary strain ; 
For thou hast sung, how He of Graul, 
That Amadis so famed in hall, 
For Oriana, foiled in fight 
The Necromancer's felon might; 
And well in modem verse hast wov© 
Parteuopex's mystic love : 
Hear then, attentive to my lay, 
A knightly tale of Albion's elder day. 



CANTO FIRST. 

€fjt Cast If. 



Day set on Norham's castled steep. 
And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep,§ 

And Che\-iot'3 mountains lone : 
The battled towers, the Donjon Keep,|| 
The loop-hole grates where captives weep. 
The flanking walls that round it sweep, 

In yellow lustre shone. 

* The new forest in Hampshire, ancientlv so called. 
, */'^^'^?P«rt ^T.'*^^ h"ge giant, and Bevisof Southampton a gaU 
•'*^« '5H;^.''^ ^^ho both fiprure in the early English romances. 

J u ilham Rufus. 
r.AJ^-^ '■"'°?"s castle of Norham, is situated on the southern bank 
ot the Iweed. about six miles above BerTrick. The extent of its 
rams, as weU as its historical importance, shows it to have been s 
place of magnificence, as well as strength. 

II The donjon, was the strongest part of a feudal castle: a hieh 
•qiiare tower, with walls of tremendous thickness, situated in th* 
centre of the other buUdinprs, from which, however, it was usually 



108 MARMION. [CANTO 1 

The warriors on the turrets hiffh. 
Moving athwart the e\euing skj, 

Seemed forms of giant height : 
Their armour, as it caught the rays, 
Flashed back again the western blaze, 

In lines of dazzling light. 

IV 

St George's banner, broad and gay, 

Now faded, as the fading raj- 
Less bright, and less, was flung; 

The evening gale had scarce the powei 

To wave it on the Donjon tower, 
So heavily it hung. 

The scouts had parted on their search. 
The castle gates were barr'd ; 

Above the gloomy portal arch, 

Timing his footsteps to a march, 
The warder kept his guard. 

Low humming, as he paced along, 

Some ancient Border gathering song. 



A distant trampling soxmd he hears; 
He looks abroad, and soon appears. 
O'er Hoi-nciiff-hill, a plump* of spears, 

Beneath a pennon gay ; 
A horseman, darting from the crowd. 
Like ligtitning from a summer cloud. 
Spurs on his mettled courser proud, 

Before the dark array. 
Beneath the sable palisade. 
That closed the castle barricade. 

His bugle-horn he blew ; 
The warder hasted from the wall. 
And warned the Captain in the hall, 

For well the blast he knew : 

detached. Tt contained the great hall, and prinapal rooms nfstarta 
for solemn occasions. o.iid also the prison of /he fortress ; from whioh 
last circumstance we derive the modern md restricted use of v.h« 
word dungi-on, 

* This word properly applies to a flight of waterfowl, but ia a^ 
plied, by aual<i^y, to a bi'dy of horse. 

Tbcre is a Kniglitof the North Country, 
VV'bich lead* a lusty plump oi spears. 

hlodden Field. 




;-i4 



JJay set on Noriianxs castLed sLeep, 
j\nd 'JVeeds fair river, ^bcoad and deep 
Ajiii Clxewots mouixtaiixs lone: 



CANTO I.] MARMION. 

And joyfully ttat Knight did call, 
To sewer, squire, and senesciiai. 

IV. 

" Now liToach ye a pipe of Malvoiiie, 

Bring pasties of the doe. 
And quickly make the entrance free, 
And bid my heralde ready be, 
And every minstrel sound his glee, 

And all our tnimpets blow ; 
And, from the platform, spare ye not 
To fire a noble salvo-shot : 

Lord Marmion waits below. "-^ 
Then to the Castle's lower ward 

Sped forty yeomen tall. 
The iron-studded gates unbarred. 
Raised the portcullis' ponderous guard. 
The lofty palisade unsparred. 

And let the draw-bridge falL 



Along the bridge Lord Marmion rode. 

Proudly his red-roan charger trod, 

His helm hung at the saddle-bow ; 

"Well, by his visage, you might know 

He was a stalworth kuiglit, and keen. 

And had in many a battle been; 

The scar on his brown clieek revealed 

A token true of Bosworth Held ; 

His eye-brow dark, and eye of fire, 

Slowed spirit proud, and prompt to ire; 

Yet lines of thought upon his cheek, 

Did deep design and counsel speak. 

His forehead, by his casciue wom bare. 
His thick moustache, and curly hair. 
Coal-black, and grizzled here and there. 

But more through toil than age ; 
His square-turned joints, and strength of lunbi 
Showed him no carpet knight so tnm, 
But, in close figbt, a cbanipion grim. 
In camps, a leader sage. 



109 



110 MAIU^UON. CCAKTOk 

VI. 

Well was lie armed from bead to heel, 

In mail, and plate, of Milan steel ;* 

But his strong helm, of mighty cost, 

Was all with burni.sh'd gold emboss'd; 

Amid the plumage of the crest, 

A falcon hovered on her nest. 

With wings outspread, and forward breait ; 

E'en such a falcon, on his shield, 

Soared sable in an azure field : 

The golden legenu bore aright, 

" Who checks at me, to death is dightJ" 

Blue was the charger's broidered rein ; 

Blue ribbons decked his arching mane ; 

The knightly housing's ample fold 

Was velvet blue, and trapp'd with gold, 

VII. 

Behind him rode two gallant squires, 
Of noble name, and knightly sires ; 
They burned the gilded spurs to claim ; 
For well could each a war-horse tame. 
Could draw the bow, the sword could sway. 
And lightly bear the ring away ; 
Nor less with courteous precepts stored. 
Could dance in hall, and carve at board, 
And frame love ditties passing rare, 
-And sing them to a lady fair. 

VIII. 

Four men-at-arms came at their ba<;ks. 

With halbard, bill, and battle-axe: 

They bore Lord Mannion's lance bO strong, 

And led his sumpter mules along. 

And ambling palfrey, when at need 

Him listed ease his battle-steefl. 

The last, and trustiest of the four. 

On high his forky pennon bore; 

Like swallow's tail, in shape and hue, 

Flutter'd the streamer glossy blue, 

» The nrtL<!ts of Milan were famous in the middle ogas fcr tMt 
Rkill in armour. 



CANTO L] MARMION. HI 

Where, blazoned sable, as before, 
The towering falcon seemed to soar. 
Last, twenty yeomen, two and two, 
In hosen black, and jerkins blue, 
With falcons broider'd on each breast, 
Attended on their lord's behest. 
Each, chosen for an archer good, 
Knew himtiug-craft by lake or wood ; 
F-^cb one a six-foot bow could bend, 
And far a cloth- yard shaft could send ; 
Each held a boar-spear tough and strong^ 
And at their belts their quivers nmg. 
Their dusty palfreys, and array, 
Showed they had marched a weary way. 



'Tis meet that I should tell you now, 
How fairly armed, and ordered how. 

The soldiers of the guard. 
With musquet, pike, and mcrion, 
o welcome noble jVlanuiou, 

Stood in the castle-yard ; 
Minstrels and trumpeters were there. 
The gunner held his linstock yare, 

For welcome-shot prepared : 
Entered the train, and such a clang, 
As then through all his turrets rang. 

Old Norham never heai'd. 



The guards their morrice-pikes advanced. 

The trumpets flourished brave, 
The cannon from the ramparts glanced. 

And thundering welcome gave. 
A blythe salute, in martial sort. 

The minstrels well might sound, 
For, as Lord Marmion crossed the coun, 

He scattered angels round. 
" Welcome to Norham, Marmion ! 

Stout heart, and open hand I 
Well dost thou brook thy gallant rcfto. 

Thou flower of English land 1" — • 



112 MAHmON. tCANTOl 



Two pursuivants, whom tabards deck. 
With silver scutcheon round their neck. 

Stood on the steps of stone, 
By which you reach the Donjon gate, 
And there, with herald pomp and state. 

They hailed Lord Marmion : 
They bailed him Lord of Fontenaye, 
Of Lutterwaid, and Scrivelbaye, 

Of Tamworth tower and town •* 
And he, their courtesy to requite. 
Gave them a chain of twelve marks weight, 

All as he lighted down. 
" Now largesse, largesse, Lord Marmion, + 

Knight of the crest of gold ! 
A blazon'd shield, in battle won, 

Ne'er guarded heait so bold." — 

XII. 

They marshalFd him to the castle-hall. 

Where the guests stood all asiile. 
And loudly Hourished the tnuupet-call, 

And the heralds loudly cried, 
— " Room, lordlings, room for Lord MainuOD, 

With the crest and helm of gold ! 
Full well we know thesprophies won 

In the lists at Cottiswold : 
There, vainly Ralph de Wilton strove 

'(•Jainst Marmion's force to stand; 
To him he lost his ladye-love, 

And to the king his land. 

» Tn earlier times, the family of Marmion, lords of Fon'enav, in 
Normandy, u-as lii^lily distiiitfiiished. Kobert de ^fa^nil>D, Lrril 
of Koiileiiay, a distiii^itisheii ruUmver of the Couqiieror. obiained 
a sraiil ot the cai^tle and town i>f Tamworth, and also of 1 he maaor 
orScrivelby, in f.iticolnshire, by the himouiable service of being 
the royal cliainpion, as the anoest<)r8 ot Marmion had formerly 
been 10 the Dukes of Normandy. The fHniily betame extinct, and 
the office of royal chanipinn was adjuilged to Sir John I>y!iioke. 
to whom the manor of Scrivelby had descended by one of the co- 
heiresses of Kobert de M ;ruiioni 

+ This was the cry with which heralds and pursitivants wer* 
wont to acit uowlHifnri- the boinity received tr^.m the knights. Th< 
heralds, like the innis'rels. wp'rc a race alloNved to have great 
claimh ii[M>n tfie libeiauty of tht koitihts, of h hose feats thev kc )t 
a reconl, and proclaitued inem aloud, aa in the text, upon sil.i a,u: 
cccasiona. 



CANTO LI 



MARMION. 113 



Ourselves beheld the listed field, 

A sight both sad aud lair ; 
We saw Lord Marmion pierce his shield. 

And saw his saddle bare ; 
We saw the victor win the crest, 

He wears with worthy pride ; 
And on the gibbet-tree, reversed. 

His foenian's scutcheon tied. 
Place, nobles, for the Falcon- Ku.ight! 

Room, room, ye gentles gay, 
For him who comjuered in the vignt, 

Marmion of Foiiteuaye !" — 

XIII. 

Tlieu stepped to meet that noble lord. 

Sir Hugh the Heron bold, 
Baron of Twisell, and of Ford, 

And Captain of the Hold. 
He led Lord Marmion to the deas, 

Raised o'er the pavement high, 
And placed him in the upper place — 

They feasted full and high : 
The whiles a Northern harper rude 
Chanted a rhyme of deadly feud, 

"• Horn the fierce T/nncalis, and Ridleys rdl^ 
Stout WUlimondsvnck^ 
A7id Hard- riding Divk, 

And Hityliie of Hamdon^ and Will d" tJie ^'uU 
Have set on Sir Albany Featlierstonhaugk^ 
And ta'-en Itis life at tlie Deadmans-skaw." 

Scantly Lord Mamiion's ear could brook 
The harper's barbarous lay ; 

Yet much he praised the pains he took, 
And well those pains did pay : 
For lady's suit, aud minstrel's strain, 
By knight should ne'er be heard in vain. 

XXV, 

" Now, good Lord Marmion,*' Heron says, 

" Of your fair courtesy. 
I piay you bide some little space. 

In thid poor towei- witn ma 

'% 



1 14 MAilMKJ.N. 

Here may you keep your arms from rast, 

May breathe your -war-horse well ; 
Seldom hath pass'd a week, but giust 

Or feat of arms befell : 
The Scots can rein a mettled steed, 

And love to couch a spear ; — 
St George ! a stirring life they lead 

That have such neighbours near. 
Then stay with us a little space, 

Our northern wars to learn ; 
I pray you for your lady's grace." 

Lord Marmion's brow grew stern. 



The Captain mark'd his altered look, 

And gave a squire the sign ; 
A mighty wassel bowl he took, 

And crown'd it high with wine. 
" Now pledge me here, Lord Marmion : 

But first I pray thee fair, 
Where hast thou left that Page of tliilie» 
That used to serve thy cup of wine, 

Whose beauty was so rare? 
When last in Raby towers we met. 

The boy I closely eyed, 
And often marked his cheeks were "wet, 

With tears he fain would hide : 
His was no rugged horse-boy's hand. 
To burnish shield, or sharpen brand. 

Or saddle battle-steed ; 
But meeter seemed for Lady fair. 
To fan her cheek, or curl her hair. 
Or through embroidery, rich and rare, 

The slender silk to lead : 
His skin was fair, his ringlets gold. 

His bosom — when he sigh'd, 
The russet doublet's rugged fold 

Could scarce repel its pride ! , 

Sa,y, hast t'uou given that lovely yoiltb 

To serve in lady's bower? 
Or was the gentle page, in sooth, 

A gentle paramo'ir ?' — 



1 


I 

CANTO L] MAR51I0N. 115 




XVI. 




Lord Marruion ill coiild brook such jest; 




He rolled his kindling eye, 




>\^itli pain his rising wrath suppressed. 




Yet made a calm reply : 




• That boy thou thouglat'st so goodly fail^ 




He might not brook the noithem air. 




More of his fate if thou would'' st learn, 




I left him sick in Lindisfam : 




Enough of him.— But, Heron, say, 




V/hy does thy lovely lady gay 




Disdain to grace the hall to-day ? 




Or has that dame, so fair and sage, 




Gone on some pious pilgrimage ?" — 




He spoke in covert scorn, for fame 




Whispered light tales of Heron's dame. 




XVII. 




tJnmarkecL, at least unrecked, the tairnl^ 




Careless the Knight replied, 




"No bird, whose feathers gayly flaunt, 




Delights in cage to bide: 




Norham is grim, and grated close. 




Hemmed in by battlement and fosso, 




And many a darksome tower ; j 




And better loves my lady bright, ! 




To sit in liberty and light, 




In fair Queen Margaret's bower. 




We hold our grej'hound in our hand. 




Our falcon on our glove ; 




But where shall we tiud leash or baTi<i, 




For dame that loves to rove? i 




Let the wild falcon soar her saving. 




She'll stoop when she has tired her wicg,*'"'* 




XVIII. , 




" Nay, if with Royal James's brido 
The lovely Lady Heron bide, 






Behold me here a messenger. 




Your tender greetings prompt to bear; 

For, to the Scottish court addressed, i 




i 
i 


I joumev at our kmg's behest, | 

! 
1 



116 



[CANTO II 



And pray you, of your grace, provide 

t or me, and mine, a trusty guide. 

I have not ridden in Scotland since 

James backed the cause of that mock prince, 

Warbeck, that Flemish counterfeit, 

Who on the gibbet paid the ch^at. 

Then did 1 march with Surrey's po-wer, 

^\'hat time we razed old Ay ton tower."* — 

XIX. 

" For such like need, my lord, I trow, 
Norham can find you guides enow ;-|' 
For here be some have pricked as far 
On Scottish ground, as to Dunbar; 
Have drunk the monks of St Boman's aJe, 
And driven the beeves of Lauderciale; 
Harried the wives of (jrreeu law's goods. 
And given them light to set their hoods.":^— !f 



" Now, in good sooth," Lord Marmion cried, 

" Were I in warlike-wise to ride, 

A better guard I would not lack. 

Than your stout forayers at my back : 

But, as in form of peace I go, 

A friendly messenger, to know, 

Why through all Scotland, near and far, 

Their king is mustering troops for war, 

The sight of plundering Border spears 

Might justify suspicious fears. 

And deadly feud, or thii-st of spoil, 

Break out in some unseemly broil: 

A herald were my fitting guide; 

Or friar, sworn in peace to bide ; 

* In MOfi, PeiVin Warbeck was received honourably in Pint- 
land: and James IV., after contening up<iii l)iui in uiarnavfr Idf 
own re atinu, the I,adv Catliarine Goninn, made war on Kn^lani 
ill behalf «f his pretensions. To retaliate an invasion ol Kiijfl.mi. 
Surrey advanced into Uerwickshire at the head of cousiiierabis 
for<'es, but retreated aJ'ter taking the iucousiJerable fortiess ot 

' > The garrisons of the Kni;1ish castles of VVark, Norham, ana 
Berwick, were very Iroublesoine neighbours f. Scotland. 

♦ Tliis is. a v)hrase.. by which the Uordeiers jociUarly intimatud 
the burning of a howse. 



CAl'fTO LI MARMION. 

Or pardoner, or travelling priest, 
Or strolling pilgrim, at the least." — 

XXL 

rhe Captain mused a little space, 
And nassed his hand across his face. 
— " Fain would I tind the guide you 
But ill may spa)-e a pursuivant, 
Tlie only men that safe can ride 
Mine errands on the Scottish side. 
Then, though a bishop built this fort, 
Few holy brethren here resort ; 
Even our good chaplain, as I ween, 
Since our last siege, we have not seen : 
The mass he might not sing or say, 
Upon one stinted meal a-day ; 
So, safe he sat in Durham aisle, 
And prayed for our success the while. 
Our Norham vicar, woe betide, 
Is all too well in case to ride. 
The priest of Shoreswood — he could rein 
The wildest war-horse in your train; 
But then, no spearman in the hall 
Will sooner swear, or stab, or brawL 
Friar John of Tillmouth were the man; 
A blithesome brother at the can, 
A welcome sruest in hail and bower. 
He knows ^ach castle, town, and tower. 
In which tbe wine and ale is good, 
'Twixt Newcastle and Holy- Rood. 
But that good man, as ill befalls. 
Hath seldom left our castle walls. 
Since on the vigil of St Bede, 
In evil hour, he crossed the Tweed, 
To teach Dame Alison her creed. 
Old Buyhtrig found him with his wifsf 
And John, an enemy to strife. 
Sans frock and hood, Hed for his life. 
The jealous churl hath deeply swore, 
That, if again he ventures o'er. 
He ^hall shrieve penitent no more. 
Little he loves such risques, I know; 
Yet, m your guard, perchance will go.'* 



I IT 



Ife 



1 18 HARMION. CCAITIO I. 



Young Selby, at the fair hall-board. 
Carved to bis uncle, and that lord, 
And reverently took up the word. 
" Kind uncle, woe were we each one. 
If bai-m should hap to Brother John. 
He is a man of mirthful speech, 
Can many a game and gambol teach; 
Full well at tables can he play, 
And sweep at bowls the stake away, 
None can a lustier carol bawl, 
Tlie needfullest among us all, 
When time hangs heaNy in the hall. 
And snow conies thick at Christmas tidc^ 
And we can neither hunt, nor ride 
A foray on the Scottish side. 
The vowed revenge of Bughtrig rude, 
May end iu worse than loss of hood. 
Let Friar John, in safety, still 
In chimney-corner snore his fill, 
Roast hissmg crabs, or tlaggons swill : 
Last night, to Norham there came one, 
Will better guide Lord Marmion." — 
" Nephew," quoth Heron, "• by my fay. 
Well hast thou spoke ; say forth thy say.^ 



** Here is a holy Palmer* come, 

From Salem first, and last from Rome; 

C)ne, that hath kissed the blessed tomb. 

And visited each holy shrine. 

In Araby and Palestine 

On hills of ArmeTiie hath been. 

Where Noah's ark may yet be seen; 

By that Red Sea, too, hath he trod, 

AVhich parted at the prophet's rod; 

In Sinai's wilderness he saw 

The Mount, where Israel heard the law, 

* A Palmer, opposed to a Pilgnm, wan one wlio made !t his sda 
ousiness to visit difierent hoiy shrines: travelling incessantly, Mu4 
t,ubsi£tiiiK by charity: whereas the Pilgrim retire.! to hi» lisool 
home and occtipatioiis, when he had paid his devotions at thtt par- 
ticular spot triuch vras the object of tua pUgriiuiige. 



119 



OAJrrO I.] MAKMION. 

Mid thunder-diut, and flashing levin. 
And shadows, mists, and darkness, given. 
He shows Saint James's coclde-sliell, 
Of fair Montserrat, too. can tell ; 

And of that Grot where Olives nod, 
Where, darling of each heart and eje, 
From all the youth of Sicily, 
Saint Rosalie retired to God.* 



" To stout Saint George of Norwich meity, 
Saint Thomas, too, of Cantevburj', 
Cuthbert of Durham and Saint Bede, 
For his sins' pardon hath he prayed. 
He knows the passes of the North, 
And seeks far shrines beyond the Forth; 
Little he eats, and long will wake, 
And drinks but of the stream or lake. 
This were a guide o'er moor and dale ; 
But, when our John hath quaffed his ale. 
As little as the wind that blows, 
And warms itself against his nose, 
Kens he, or cares, which way he goes.**— 



" Gramercy 1" quoth Lord Marmion, 
"Full loth were I, that Friar John, 
That venerable man, for me, 
Were placed in fear, or jeopardy. 

If this same Palmer will me lead 
From hence to Holy- Rood, 

Like his good saint, I'll pay his meed, 

Instead of cockle-shell, or bead. 
With angels fair and good. 
I love such holy ramblers ; still 
They know to charm a weary hill. 

With song, lomance, or lay : 

* " Sante Rosalia ^vas of Palermo, and bom of a T«y noM« 
family, and abhorred so much the vanities of this world, that sh 
forsook her father's house, aud never w.is more heard of, till her 
body was found in that cierc of a rock, on that almoot inacooBsible 
niuuntbia, where now her chapel ia biiilt." 



120 MARMION. I CANTO 1. 

Some jovial tale, or glee, or jest. 
Some lying legend at the least, 

They bring to cheer tlie way.**— ' 

" Ah ! noble sir " young Selby said, 

And finger on his lip he laid, 

" This man knows much, perchance e'en mode 

Than he could learn by holy lore. 

Still to himself he's muttering, 

And shuinks as at some unseen thing. 

Last night we listened at his cell ; > 

Strange sounds we heard, and, sooth to tell. 

He murmured on till morn, howe'er 

No living mortal could be near. 

Sometimes I thought I heard it plain, 

As other voiced spoke again. 

I cannot tell — I like it not — 

Friar John hath told us it is wrote, 

No conscience clear, and void of wrong. 

Can rest awake, and pray so long. 

Himself still sleeps before his beads 

Have marked ten aves, and two creeds." — 



'' Let pass," quoth Marmion ; " by my fay. 
This man shall guide me on my way. 
Although the gi-eat arch-Hend and he 
Had sworn themselves of company; 
So please you, gentle youth, to call 
This Palmer to the castle-hall." — 
The summoned Palmer came in place; 
His sal)le cowl o'erhuug his face ; 

In his black mantle \vas he clad, 

With Peter's keys, in cloth of red. 
On his -broad shoulders wrought ; 

The scallop shell his cap did deck ; 

The crucitix around his neck 
Was from Loretto brought; 
His sandals were with travel tore. 
Staff, budget, bottle, scrip, he wore; 
The faded palm- branch in his hand. 
Showed pilgrim from the Holy Laud. 



CANTO I.] MABMION. 12) 

XXVIII. 

^.Vhenas the Palmer came in ball, 

Nor lord, nor knight, was there more Ullj 

Or had a statelier step withal, 

Or looked more high and keen; 
For no saluting did he wait. 
But strode across the hall of state, 
And fronted Marmion where he sate, 

As he his peer had been. 
'But his gaunt frame was worn with toil ; 
His cheek was sunk, alas the while ! 
And when be struggled at a smile. 

His eye looked haggard wild. 
Poor wretch ! the mother that him bare, 
If she had been in presence there, 
In his wan face, and sun-burned hair. 

She had not known her child. •* 
Danger, long travel, want, or woe. 
Soon change the form that best we know — 
For deadly fear can time outgo. 

And blanch at once the hair; 
Har I toil can roughen form and face, 
And want can quench the eye's bright grsee, 
Nor does old age a wrinkle trace, 

Move deeply than despair. 
Happy wlxom none of these befall, 
But this poor Palmer knew them all. 

XXIX. 

Lord Mai-raion then his boon did ask ; 
The Palmer took on him the task. 
So he would march with morning tide. 
To Scottish court to be his guide. 
— " But I have solemn vows to pay. 
And may not linger by the way, 
To fair Saint Andrew's bound. 
Within the ocean-cave to pi-ay,* 

* St Retina, (Scnttic6, St Rule) a mcnk of Patrao. in Aohai», 
warned by a vtBiou, is sjiiil, a.u. 370, to have sailed westward, until 
he lauded at St Andiew's, in isootlaiid, where he tmipded a chape) 
and tower. A cave, nearly fronting the ruinous castle of the 
ArohbisUops of Ht Andrew's, bears the uaiue of Una religioiu 
Pfrsou, 

w 



122 iMARMION. (canto L 

\^^lere good Saint Rule his holy lay. 
From midnight to the dawn of day, 

Sung to the billows' sound ; ' 

Tlience to Saint Fillan's blessed well. 
Whose spring can frenzied di-eams dispel, 

And the crazed brain restore : — * 
Saint Mary grant, tliat cave or spring 
Could back to peace my bosom bring, 

Or bid it throb no more 1" — 

XXX, 

And now the midnight draught of sleep. 
Where wine and spices richly steep, 
In massive bowl of silver deep. 

The page presents on knee. 
Lord Marmion drank a fair good rest, 
The Captain pledged his noble guest, 
The cup went through among the roit, 

"Who drained it merrily ; 
Alone the Palmer passed it by, 
Though Selby pressed him couiteously. 

This was the sign the feast was o'er ; 

It hushed the merry wassel roar, 
The minstrels ceased to sound. 

Soon in the castle nought was heard. 

But the slow footstep of the guard, 
Pacing his sober round. 

XXXI. 
With early dawn Lord ^lamaion rose ; 
And first the chapel doors unclose ; 
Then, after morning rites were done, 
(A hasty mass from Friar John,) 
* And knight and squi re had broke their fesfi, 
On rich substantial repast. 
Lord Marmion's bugles blew to horse. 
Then came the stirrup-cup in course ; 
Between the Baron and his host, 
No point of courtesy was lost : 

» St Fillau was a Scottish saint of some reputation. Iter* aie, 
a Perthshire, several wells and springs dedicated to St FUlAfl, 
which are still places of pilgrimage and otferiugs, even among tba 
Vrotestaiits- 



OANTO II.] MARMION. 123 

High thanks were by Lord Marmion paid, 
Solemn excuse the Captain made. 
Till, hling from the gate, had past 
That noble train, their Lord the last. 

Then loudly rung the tmmpet-call ; 

Thundered the cannon from the wall, 
And shook the Scottish shore; 

Around the castle eddied, slow, 

Volumes of smoke as white as snow. 
And hid its turrets hoar ; 
Till they rolled forth upon the air, 
And met the river breezes there, 
Which gave again the prospect fair. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND. 
To Vie Rev. John Harriot, M.A. 

Ashestid, Eitricke Forest. 

The scenes are desart now and bare. 

Where flourished once a forest fair,* 

When these waste glens with copse were lined. 

And peopled with the bart and hind. 

Yon thorn — perchance whose prickly spears 

Have fenced him for three hundi'ed years, 

While fell around his gi-een compeers — 

Yon lonely thorn, wouid he could tell 

The changes of his parent dell. 

Since he, so grey and stubborn novr. 

Waved in each breeze a sapling bough ; 

Would he could tell how deep the shade, 

A thousand mingled branches made ; 

How broad the shadows of the oak, 

How clung- the rowanf to the rock, 

And through the foliage showed his head. 

With narrow leaves, and berries red ; 

• Ettricke Fi)rest, now a range of mountainous sheep w^alki, 
WM auciently reserved for the pleasure of tlie royal cluise. When 
the kiu>; hunted lliere, he often summoned Che array i.'t the Ciiua- 
try to meet and assist his sport. These huntings had, of course, a 
UBilitary character, and attendance apon ihein was a part of tltf 
>li!ty of«Tiw»al. 

+ Mouutara-asb. 



»24 MARMION. CCAVTO U 

What pines on every mountain spnmg. 
O'er every dell what birches hung, 
In every breeze what aspens shook, 
What alders shaded evei^ brook! 

" Here, in my shade," methinks he'd say. 
" The mighty stag at noontide lay : 
The wolf I've seen, a liercer game, 
(The neighbouring dingle bears hia name,) 
With lurching step around me prowl, 
And stop against the moon to howl ; 
The mountain boar, on battle set, 
His tusks upon my stem would whet ; 
^Vhile doe and roe, and red-deer good. 
Have bounded by through gay gieen-wood. 
Then oft, from ISewark's riven tower, 
Sallied a Scottish monarch's power : 
A thousand vassals mustered round, 
With horse, and hawk, and bom, and hound; 
And 1 might see the^ youth intent. 
Guard e\ery pass with cross-bow bent; 
^ud through the brake the rangers stalk, 
And falc'ners hold the ready hawk ; 
And foresters, in green-wood trim, 
Lead in the leash the gaze-hounds grim. 
Attentive, as the bratcliet's* bay 
From the dark covert drove the prey, 
To slip them as he broke away. 
The startled (parry bounds amain, 
As fast the gallant grey-hounds strain; 
Whistles the arrow from the bow, 
A.nswers the harquebuss below ; 
While all the rocking hills reply. 
To hoof-clang, hound, and hunters' cry, 
And bugles ringing lightsomely." — 

Of such proud huntings, many tales 
"b'et linger in our lonely dales, 
Up pathless Ettricke, and on Yarrow, 
Where erst the Outlaw drew his arrow.-f 

» S!o%r-houiid. 
t Tlie tale of the Outlaw Alurray, who held out Ncwam 
oead Ectricke Forest against the klug, mav be found in the " or* 



CAKTO Itj MARAIIOS. 125 

But not more blytlie that sylvan court, 

Than we have been at humbler sport ; 

Though small our pomp, and mean our game. 

Our mirth, dear Marriot, was the same. 

Remember'st thou my giey-hounds true ? 

O'er holt, or hill, there never tiew, 

From slip, or leaiih, there never sprang, 

More tieet of foot, or sure of fang. 

Nor dull, between each merry chase. 

Passed by the intenuitted space; 

For we had fair resource m store. 

In Classic, and in Gothic lore : 

We marked each memorable scene. 

And held poetic talk between ; 

Nor hill, nor brook, we paced along. 

But had its legend, or its song. 

All silent now — for now are still 

Thy bowers, untenanted Bowhill ! 

No longer, from thy mountains dun, 

The yeoman hears the well-known gun. 

And, while his honest heart glows warm. 

At thought of his paternal farm, 

Round to his mates a brimmer fills, 

And diinks, " The Chieftain of the Hills T 

No fairy forms, in Yarrow's bowers, 

Trip o'er the walks, or tend the flowers, 

Fair as the elves whom Janet saw, : 

By moonlight, dance on Carterhaugh ; i 

No youthful barons left to grace. 

The Forest-Sheriff's lonely chase. 

And ape, in manly step and tone, 

The majesty of Oberon : ; j 

And she is gone, whose lovely face I 

Is but her least and lowest grace ; 1 1 

Though if to Sylphid Queen 'twei-e given. 

To show our earth the charms of heaven, j j 

She could not glide along the air, * I i 

With form more light, or face more fair. j 

No more the widow's deafened ear 

Grows quick, that lady's step to hear : 

•er Minstre'sy." In the Mactarlme ^^S., among other cauSM ol I < 

Janies the Kiflh's charter to the burgh, is meutioned, that tbfl 
oitizeuB assisted him to suppress tliis ddn^erous outla\7. 



126 MARMION. vNTOn 

At noontide she expects her not, 
Nor busies her to trim the cot; 
Pensive she .-urns her humming wheel. 
Or pensive cooks her orphans' meal ; 
Yet blesses, ere she deals their bread, 
The gentle hand by which they re fed. 

From Yair, — which hills so closely bintl. 
Scarce can the Tweed his passage lind. 
Though much he fret, and chafe, and toll, 
Till all his eddying currents boil, 
Her long-descended lord is gone, 
And left us by the stream alone. 
And much I miss those sportive boys, 
Companions of my mountain joys, 
Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth, 
AVhen thought is speech, and speech is truth. 
Close to my side, with what delight, 
They pressed to hear of Wallace wight, 
When, pointing to his airy mound, 
I called his ramparts hoi}' ground !* 
Kindled their brows to hear me speak ; 
And I have smiled, to feel my cheek, 
Despite the difference of our j-ears, 
Return again the glow of theirs. 
Ah, happy boys ! such feelings pure, 
They will not, cannot long endure ; 
Condemned to stem the world's rude tide. 
You may not linger by the side ; 
For Fate shall thrust you from the shore. 
And Passion ply the sail and oar. 
Yet cherish the remembrance still, 
Of the lone mountain, and the rill ; 
For trust, dear boys, the time will corce, 
W^hen fiercer transport shall be dumb, 
And you will think right frequently. 
But, well I hope, without a sigh. 
On the free hours that we have speut. 
Together, on the brown hill's bent. 

When, musing on companions gone, 
We doubly feel oursflves aione, 

• There is, on a high mountainous lidgo above the farm 
Aaheatiel, a fos8e called Wallace's Trend), 



OAMTO IL] MAKA11U>\ 

Something, my friend, we yet may gain, 
There is a pleasure in this pain : 
It soothes the love of lonely rest, 

Deep in each gentler heart impressed. i i 

'Tis silent amid Avorklly toils, : j 

And stilled soon by mental broils ; 1 1 

But, in a bosom thus prepared, j j 

Its still small voice is often heard, | 

Whispering a mingled sentiment, | 

'Twixt resignation and content. ij 

Oft in my mind such thoughts awake, ;! 

By loi^e St Mary's silent lake ;* : 

Thou know'st it well, — nor feu, nor sedge, ' ! 

Pollute the pure lake's ciystal edge ; ij 

Abrupt and sheer, the mountains sink j j 

At once upon the level brink; !i 

And just a trace of silver sand jj 

Marks where the water meets the land. jj 

Far in the mirror, bright and blue, |l 

Each hill's huge outline you may view ; • I 

Shaggy with heath, but lonely bare, j| 

Nor tree, nor bush, nor brake is there, 'i 
Save where, of land, you slender line 

Bears thwart the lake the scattered pine. ^ ■ j 

Yet even this nakedness has power, * '• 

And aids the feeling of the hour : • \ 

Nor thicket, dell, nor copse you spy, i 

Where living thing concealed might lie ; , i 

Nor point, retiring, hides a dell, ; 

Where swain, or woodman lone, might dwell; ! 

There's nothing left to fancy's gue'ss, j 

You see that all is loneliness : i 

And silence aids — though these steep hills ! j 

Send to the lake a thousand rills ; j 

In summer tide, so soft they weep, j 

The sound but lulls the ear asleep ; '■ ■ 



• This beautiful sheet of water forms the reservoir from which 
the Yarrow takes its source. Near the lower extremity of the 
lake, are the ruins of Dryhope Tower, the birth-place of Mary 
fecott, daughter of Philip Scott of Dryhope, and famous by tha 
traditional uame of the Flower of Yarrow. She was married t<) 
Walter Scott of Harden, no less renowned for his depreciation* 
than his bride for her beauty. 



128 MABMION. tCAKTO H 

Your horse's hoof-tread sounds too rude, 
So stilly is the solifiide. 

Nought living meets the eye or ear. 
But well I weeu the dead are near -; 
For though, in feudal strife, a foe 
Hath laid Our Lady's chapel low,* 
Yet still, beneath the hallowed soil, 
The peasant rests him from his toil, 
And, dying, bids his bones be laid, 
Where erst his simple fathers prayed. 

If age had tamed the passions' strife, 
And fate had cut ray ties to life, 
Here, have I thought, 'twere sweet to dwell, 
And rear again the chapbin's cell, 
Like that same peaceful hermitage, 
Where Milton longed to spend his age. 
'Twere sweet to mark the setting day. 
On IJourhope's lonely top decay ; 
And, as it faint and feeble died. 
On the broad lake, and mountain's side. 
To say, " Thus pleasures fade away ; 
Youth, talents, beauty, thus decay, 
And leave us dark, forlorn, and gi-ey ;" — 
Then ga/.e on Dryhope's mined tower, 
And think on Yarrow's faded Flower. 
And when that mountain-sound I heard, 
Which bids us be for storm prepared. 
The distant rustling of his wings. 
As up his force the Tempest brings, 
'Twere sweet, ere yet his terrors rave, 
To sit upon the Wizard's grave ;f 
That wizard Priest's, whose boues are thmst 
From company of holy dust ; 

« The chajiel of Saint Mary of theliowes fdelacuhux) wasi gltn 
Rtod on llie easieiii side nf the lake, to u-liioh ii gives name. It 
was ivjni-ed bv the clau of Soolt, in a feud with tlie Cranstimns; 
but coiitiiuieJ to be a plai-e <if worsliip diir:n<^ the Si^V'Uleeiith 
eeuiury. Tli"! vestiges of the build iug can now scarcely b«* traoed; 
but tlie buri.il giouu I is still used as a ceniftery, 

+ At one corner of the burial {;round of the deUQoliched rhapel, 
but without its precincts, isaiiniall inuuud, called liini-ain't corse, 
where tradiiion deposits the remains of a aecromautij priest, th« 
former tenant of the chaplaiury. 



CANTO n.] MARMIOW. 129 

On ^hlch no sun- beam ever shines — 
(So super^;tition''s creed divines,) 
Thence view the lake, with sullen roar, 
Heave her broad billovv's to the shore; 
And inark the wild swans mount the gale- 
Spread wide through mist their snoyry sail, 
And ever stoop again, to lave 
I'lieir bosoms on the surging wave : 
Then, when against the driving hail 
No longer might my plaid avail, 
Back to my lonely home retire, 
And light my lamp, and trim my fire : 
There ponder o'er some mystic lay, 
Till the wild tale had all its sway, 
And, in the bittern's distant shriek, 
I heard unearthly voices speak. 
And thought the Wizard Priest was come, 
To claim again his ancient home ! 
And bade my busy fancy range, 
To frame him fitting shape and strange. 
Till from the task my brow I cleared. 
And smiled to think that I had feared. 

But chief, 'twere sweet to think such life^ 
(Tliough but escape from fortune's strife,) 
Something most matchless good, and wise, 
A great and grateful sacrifice ; 
And deem each hour, to musing given, 
A step upon the road to heaven. 

Yet him, whose heart is ill at ease, 
Such peaceful solitudes displease : 
He loves to drown his bosom's jar 
Amid the elemental war : 
And my black Palmer's choice had been 
Some ruder and more savage scene. 
Like that which frowns round dark Lochskene,* 
There eagles scream from isle to shore; 
Down all the rocks the torrents roar; 
O'er the black waves incessant driven, 
Dark mists infect the summer heaven ; 

* A mountain lake, of considerable size, at the head of thaMofL 
bt-\vater. 

f2 



^30 MARMION. [canto if 

Through the nide barriers of the lake, 
Away its hurrying waters break, 
Faster and whiter dash and curl, 

I Till down yon dark abyss they hurl. 

Rises the fog-smoke white as snow, 

i Thunders the viewless stream below, 

U Diving, as if condemned to lave 

' j Some demon's subterranean cave, 

Who, prisoned by enchanter's spell, 
Shakes the dark rock with groan and yelL 

And well that Palmer's form and mien ! 1 

Had suited with the stormy scene, j I 

Just on the edge, straining his ken ! I 

To view the bottom of the den, 1 1 

Where, deep deep down, and far within, i j 

Toils with the rocks the roaring linn ; ! j 

Then, issuing forth one foamy wave, ' i 

And wheeling round the Giant's Grave, j ! 

White as the snovv-y charger's tail, , « i 

Drives dovra the pass of Mojffatdale. j 

Harriot, thy harp, on Isis strung, j i 
To many a Border theme has rung : 

Than list to me, and thou shalt know i 

Of this mysterious Man of Woe. { 

CANTO SECOND. !] 

Cfje ciTonbcnt. 
I. 

The breeze, which swept away the smoke, 

Round Norham Castle rolled; 
WHien all the loud artillery spoke, 
With lightning-flash, and thunder-stroke, 

As Marmion left the Hold. 
It curled not Tweed alone, that breeze i 
For, far upon Northumbrian aeas,' 

It freshly blew, and strong, 
W here, from high Whitby's cloistered pile, 
Bound to Saint Cuthbert's Holy Isle. 

It bore a bark alonj(. 



CANIO li.J MAKMIOJV. 

Upon the gale she stooped her side, 
And bounded o'er the swelling tide, 

As she were dancing home • 
The merry seamen laughed, to see 
Their gallant ship so lustily 

Furrow the green sea-foam. 
Much joyed they in their honoured freight : 
For, on the deck, in chair of state,* 
The Abbess of ^'alat Hilda placed. 
With five fair nun , the galley graced. 

II. 
'Twas sweet to see these holy maids. 
Like birds escaped to green-wood shades, 

Their first Hight fi'om the cage, 
How timid, and how curious too, 
For all to them was strange and new. 
And all the common sights they view. 

Their wonderment engage. 
One eyed the shrouds and swelling sail, 

AVith many a benedicite ; 
One at the rii)pling surge grew pale, 

And would for terror pray; 
Then shrieked, because the sea-dog, nigh. 
His round black head, and sparkling eye. 

Reared o'er the foaming spray; 
And one would still adjust her veil. 
Disordered by the summer gale. 
Perchance lest some more worldly eye 
Her dedicated charms might spy; 
Perchance, because such action graced 
Her fair-turned arm and slender waist. 
Light was each simple bosom there, 
Save two, who ill might pleasure share, — 
The Aboess, and the Novice Clare. 



131 



:i8 ot 



» The Abbey of Whitby contained both monks an. 
me Benedictine order; but, contrary to wliat was usn .1 in i-ucll 
establishments, the abbess was superior to the abbot. I,inilisfarne, 
was called Holy Island, from ttie sanctity of its ancient monastery, 
and from its har lug been the episcopal seat of the see of Darham 
during the early aj^es of British Chrsitianity. St Cuthbert, who 
was sixth bishop of Durham, bestowed the name of his "patri- 
mony" upon the extensive property of the see. Lindisferne is no* 
properly an island, but rattier, a semi-isle; for although surround- 
ed by the sea at full tide, the ebb leaves the sands dry betweeti it 
»nd the opp ^site coast of NonhumbArlaud, from which it is about 
two miles distaaU 



132 



LCANTOU 



III. 



The Abbess was of nobi? blood, 
But early took the veil and hood, 
Ere upon life she cast a look. 
Or knew the worli that she forsook. 
Fair too she was, and kind had been 
As she was fair, but ne'er had seen 
For her a timid lover sigh, 
Nor knew the influence of her eye ♦, 
Love, to her ear, was but a name, 
Combined with vanity and shame 
Her hopes, her feai-s, her joys, were all 
Bounded within the cloister wall : 
The deadliest sin her mind could reach. 
Was of monastic rule the breach ; 
And her ambition's highest aim, 
To emulate Saint Hilda's fame. 
For this she gave her ample dower, 
To raise the convent's eastern tower; 
For this, with carving rare and quaint, 
She decked the chapel of the saint. 
And gave the relique-shrine of cost. 
With ivory and gems embos^t. 
The poor her convent's bounty blest, 
The pilgrim in its halls found rest. 



Black was her garb, her rigid nile 
Reformed on Benedictine school ; 
Her cheek was pale, her form was spare | 
Vigils, and penitence austere. 
Had early quenched the light of youdl. 
But gentle was the dame in sooth ; 
Though vain of her religious sway. 
She loved to see her maids obey, 
Yet nothing stern was she in cell. 
And the nuns loved their Abbess -well. 
Sad was this voyage to the dame ; 
Summoned to Liudisfarne. she came. 
There, with Sana Cuthbert's Abbot joldf 
And Tynemouth's Prioress, to hold 
A chapter of Saint Benedict, 
For inquisition stern and strict. 



OAWTO n.] MARMIOrJ. 133 

On two apostates frem the failh. 
And. if need were, to doom to death. 



Nought say I here of Sister Clare, 
Save this, that she was young and fiair ; 
As yet a novice unpiofessed, 
Lovely, and gentle, but distressed. 
She was betrothed to one now dead. 
Or worse, who had dishonoured Hed, 
Her kinsmen bade her give her hand 
To one, who loved her for lier land : 
Herself almost heart-broken now, 
Was bent to take the vestal vow, 
And shroud, within Saint Hilda's gloom, 
Her blasted hopes and withered bloom. 

VI. 

She sate upon the galley's prow, 
And seemed to mark the waves below; 
Nay seemed, so fixed her look and eye, 
I'o count them as they glided by. 
She saw them not — 'twas seeming all — 
Far other scene her thoughts recall, — • 
A sun-scorched desart, waste and bare, 
Nor wave, nor breezes, murmured there; 
There saw she, where some careless hand 
O'er a deail corpse had heaped the sand, 
To hide it till the jackalls come, 
To tear it from the scanty tomb. — 
See what a woeful look was given. 
As she raised up her eyes to heaven ) 

VII. 

Lovely, and gentle, and distressed — 

These charms might tame tne liercest breast ! 

Harpers have sung, and poets told. 

That he, in fury uncontrolled, 

The shaggy monarch of the wood. 

Before a virgin, fair and good. 

Hath pacified his savage moo«L 

But passions in the human frame 

Oft put the lion's rage to shame: 



134 ■ Mir.N. [CANTO n 

^nd jealousy, by dark iutiiSTie, 
With sordid avarice in iea^e, 
Had practised, with their bowl and knife, 
Against the mourner's harmless life. 
This crime was charged 'gainst those who lay 
Prisoned in Cuthbert's islet giay. 

VIII. 

And now the vessel skirts the strand 

Of mountainous Northumberland ; 

TowTis, towers, and halls, successive rise, 

And catch the nuns' delighted eyes. 

Monk-Wearmouth soon behind them lay^ 

And Tynemouth's priory and bay ; 

They maiked, amid her trees, the hall 

Of lofty Seaton-Delaval ; 

They saw the Blythe and Wansbeck floods 

Rush to .,he sea through sounding woods ; 

They past the tower of Widderington, 

Mother of many a valiant son ; 

At Coquet-isle their beads they tell, 

To the good Saint who owned the cell ; 

Then did the Alne attention claim. 

And Warkworth, proud of Percy's name; 

And next, they crossed themselves, to hear 

The whitening breakers sound so near, 

Where, boiling through the rocks, they roar 

On Duustanborough's caverned shore ; 

Thy tower, proud Bamborough, marked they here, 

King Ida's castle, huge and square, 

From its tall rock look grimly down, 

And on the swelling ocean frown : 

Then from the coast they bore away 

And reached the Holy Island's bay 

IX. * 

The tide did now its flood-mark gain 
And girdled in the Saint's domain : 
For with the flow and ebb, its stile 
Varies from continent to isle ; 
Dry-shod, o'er sands, twice t;\ery day, 
The pilgrims to-tlie sliriae find way : 



CANTO n] MARMION. 185 

Twice eveiy day, the waves efface 

Of staves and sandaled feet the trac* 

As to the port the galley Hew, 

Higher and higher rose to view 

The Castle, with its battled walls, : j 

ITie ancient monastery's halls, ij 

A solemn, huge, and dark-red pile, i 

Placed on the margin of the isle. ; 

X. 

In Saxon strength that Abbey frowned, ; 

With massive arches broad and round, | 

That rose alternate, row and row ! | 

On ponderous columns, short and loiflr, • j 

Built ere the art was known, : I 

By pointed aisle, and shafted stalk, , ! 

The arcades of an alley' d walk [ \ 

To emulate in stone. i j 

On the deep walls, the heathen Dane I j 

Had poured his impious rage in vain ; ' \ 
And needful was such strength to these, j 

Exposed to the tempestuous seas, 

Scourged by the wind's eternal sway, ' 

Open to rovers fierce as they. 

Which could twelve hundred years withstand j 

Winds, waves, and northern pirates' hand. 
Not but that portions of the pile, 
Rebuilded in a later stile. 

Showed where the spoiler's hand had been ; j 

Not but the wasting sea-breeze keen [ 

Had Avorn the pillar's carving quaint, ; 

And mouldered in his niche the saint, ] 

And rounded, with consuming power, j 

The p->inted angles of each tower : j 

Vet still entire the Abbey stood, j 

I«ike veteran, ■worn, but unsubdued. i 

XI. I 

Soon as they ncared his turrets strong. 



Tlie maidens raised Saint Hilda's song, j 

And with the sea-wave and the wind. 
Their voices, sweetly shrill, combined. 
And made harmonious close ; 



186 MARiUOX [CANTO II 

Then, answenug from the sandy shore, 

Half-drowned ainid the breakers' roar. • , ■ 

According chorus rose : i i 

Down to the haven of the Isle, j ! 
The monks and nuns in order file, 

From Cuthbert's cloisters grim ; ! ; 
Banner, and cross, and reliques there, «• I 

To meet Saint Hilda's maids, they bars} | 

And, as they caught the sounds on air, ' 

They echoed back the hymn. • ! 
The islanders, in joyous mood, ' | 

Rushed emulously through the flood, ! 

To hale the bark to land ; I ! 

Conspicuous by her veil and hood, ii 

Signing the cross, the Abbess stood, ji 

And blessed them with her hand. !■ 

XII. |; 

Suppose we now the welcome said, i , 

Sujipose the Convent banquet madej jj 

AH tlirough the holy dome, I 

Through cloister, aisle, and gallery, {; 

Wherever vestal maid might pry, ;i 

Nor risk to meet uuhallowed eye, ' ; 

The stranger sisters roam : j j 

Till fell the evening damp with dew, j 

And the sharp sea-breeze coldly blew, j 

For there, even summer night is chifl. I ; 

Then, having strayed and gazed their fill I ' 

They closed around the tire ; ' ! 

And all, in turn, essayed to paint il 

Tlie rival merits of their saint, j 

A theme that ne'er can tiie | 

A holy maid; for, be it kno>Ti, ' 

That their saint's honour is their O'wn. ' ! 

XIII. 
Iheu Wliitby's nuns exulting told. 
How to their house three barons bold 

Must menial service do ; 
Wl lie horns blow out a note of shame. 
And monks cry "■ Fye upon your naoie ! 
n wrath, for loss of sylvan r^^ame, 

Saint Hilda's priest ye slew." 



^ 



..\ 



0^"<TO XI.1 MARMIOX 

'"This, on Ascension-dav, each year, 
While labouring on our harbour-pier, 
Must Herbert,- Bnice, ajid Percy hear. 
They tol^l, how in their convent cell 
A Saxon jrincess once did dwell, 

Ihe lovely Edeliied ;* 
And how, of thousand snakes, each one 
Was changed into a coil of stone,f' 

When holy Hilda prayed ; 
Themselves, within their holy bound, 
Their stony folds had often found. 
They told, how sea-fowls' pinions fail,J 
As over Whitby's towers they sail, 
And, sinking down, with flutterings faint. 
They do their homage to the saint. 



131 



Nor did Saint Cuthbert's daughters fail. 

To vie -with these in holy tale ; 

His body's resting-place, of old. 

How oft their patron changed, they told ;§ 

* She was the daughter of Kinjt Osway, who, in graritfirte to 
heaven for the ^reat victory \vhi<-h he won in 65n. against Fenda, 
the pa/an king of Mercia. dedii-aled Edelfleda, then but a year 
old. to the service of God in the inon "Stery of WTiitby, of which 
fit ll'Ma. was then abbess. She afterwards adorned the place of 
her education with sreat magnificence. 

+ The reliques of the snake* which infested the precinct? of the 
convent, and were, at the abbe.«s"s prayer, not only beheaded, but 
petritieil, are still found about the rocks, and are termed by fossil- 
ist.t AinjTtonita. 

X Mr Charlti>n, in his History of 'WTiilhy, points out the true 
origin of the fable, from the number of sea-gulls, thai, when flying 
from a storm, often alisht near Wliitby ; and from tlie woodcncks, 
and other birds of passage, which Vlo tlie same iioon their nrrival on 
shore, after along fliyht. 

§ St Cmhbert died in the Fame islands, and his body vt.-.s 
brought to Liiidisfarne. where it rem-<iued until a descent of th 
Danes, about 7tt3. when the mrnks fled to Scotland, with his re 
.iques: they paraded him through Scotland for several ye^rs, and 
came as far west as Whithorn, in Galloway, whence they at- 
tempted to sail for Ireland, but were driven back bv temposts. 
H>- at length made a halt at Norliam ; thence he went to Melrose, 
where he remained stationary for a short time, and then caused 
himself to be launched upon the Tweed in a stone coffin, which 
landed him at Tillmoiith, in Northumberland. From Tidmonth, 
Cut hbert wandered into Yorkshire; and at length made a long 
•lay at Chester-le-street, to which the bishop's see was transferred. 
At length, the Danes continuing to infest tbe country, the monks 
removed to Rippon fur a season ; and it was in reiuni from thence 
<o Chester-Ie-street that, passinsthroujh a forest called Dunholmfc 
the Sainc and hi<: cirriage becaoie immoveable at a place uuioed 
Wardlaw, or Wardiiaw. 



188 MARMION. [CAJ«TO IL 

How, when the rude Dane bunied their pile, 
The monks fled forth from iloly Isle ; 
O'er northern mountain, marsh, and moor. 
From sea to sea, from shore to shore. 
Seven years Saint Cuthbert's corpse they bora. 

They rested them in fair Melrose ; 
But though, alive, he loved it well, 

Not there his reliques might repose ; 
For, wondrous tale to tell ! 

In his stone-coffin forth he rides, 

(A ponderous bark for river tides) 

Yet light as gossamer it elides, 
Downward to Tillmouth celL 
Nor long was his abiding there. 
For southward did the saint repair; 
Chester-le-Street, and Rippon, saw 
His holy corpse, ere Wardilaw 

Hailed him with joy and fear ; 
And, after many wanderings past, 
He chose his lordly seat at last. 
Where his cathedral, huge and vast 

Looks down upon the Wear : 
There, deep in Durham's Gothic shade, 
His reliques are in secret laid ; 

But none may know the place, 
Save of his holiest servants three. 
Deep sworn to solemn secrecy, 

W ho share that wondrous grace. 

XV. 

Who may his jniracles declare ! 

Even Scotland's dauntless king, and heir, 

(Although with them they led 
(Talwegians, wild as ocean's gale. 
And Lodon's knights, all sheathed i)i inail, 
And the bold men of Teviotdalo,) 

Before his standard Hed.* 
*Twas he, to vindicate his reign, 
Edged Alfred's falchion on the Dane, 

• TThen Darld I., with his son Henry invaded Nnrthtimberuad 
m 113!}, the Eii','li«li host tu:ircheii against theui and«r the holy 
baniinr of St Cuthbert ; to the etficscv of which was imputed tha 
Cr&iit rictorv wiuch they obtained at' NorthallcTtui. 



CANTO 111 MARMION. 139 

And turned the conqueror back acain,* 
When, with his Nurmaa oowyer band. 
He came to waste Northumberland. 

XVI. 

But fain Saint Hilda's nuns would learn. 
If, on a rock by Lindisfarn, 
Saint Cuthbert sits, and toils to frame 
The sea-bora beads that bear his name i*}* 
Such tales had Whitby's tishers told. 
And said they might his shape behold, 

And hear his anvil sound ; 
A deadened clang, — a huge dim form, 
Seen but, and heard, when gathering atorm, 

And night were closing round. 
But this, as tale of idle fame. 
The nuns of Lindisfarn disclaim. 

XVII. 

While round the fire such legends go. 

Far different was the scene of woe, | 

Where, in a secret aisle beneath. 

Council was held of life and death. 

It was more dark and lone that vault, 
Than the worst dungeon cell ; 

Old ColwuLf built it,:J: for his fault. 
In penitence to dwell. 
When he, for cowl and beads, laid down 
The Saxon battle-axe and crown. 



* The Saint we are told appeared in a ^^sion to Alfred, whea 
liirkiiig in the mai'shea ot Glastonbury, aisd promised hiin assist- 
ance and victory over his heathen enemies. As to William the Coa • 
ijueror, ha\'ing nitiinated an indiscreet curiosity to view the Saiut 4 
liody, he was, while in the act of commanding the shrine to be 
opened, seized with heat, sickness, and such a panic ten or, that 
ne Ued and never drew his bridle till he got to the river Tees. 

t Cuthbert since'his death, has acquired the reputation of forging 
'.'.Mse Entrochi which are found among the rocks of Holy Island, 
and prtss there by the name ol' St Culhbert's B*;ads. WTiileat tiiis 
tasV, he is supposed to sit during the night upon a certain rock, and 
use another as his anvil. 

t Ceolwolf, or Cohvulf, King of Northumberland, flourished in 
;he eighth century. He abdicated the throne about 73S, and retired 
to Holy Island, where he died in the odour of sanctity. These 
peniten tial-vau\t« served as places ol meeting for the chapter, when 
measures of uucouun<m sevei'ity wei-e to be adopted. But their 
most frequent use, aJ icipliod by the name, was a« placea for pe> 
o: ming pwauce*, or undergoing ponishincm. 



140 MARMION. CCANTO U 

Tliis den, which, chilling every sense 

Of feeling, bearing, sight, 
Was called the Vault of Penitence, 

Excluding air and light, 
"Was, h)' the prelate Sexhelm, made 
A place of burial, for such dead 
As, having died in mortal sin. 
Might not be laid the church within. 
'Twas now a place of punishment ; 
Whence if so loud a shriek were sent, 

As reached the upper air, 
The hearers blessed themselves, and said, 
The spirits of the sinful dead 

Bemoaned their tomients there. 

XVIII. 
But though, in the monastic pile, 
Did of this penitential aisle 

Some vague tradition go, 
Few only, save the Abbot, knev/ 
Where the place lay ; and still more few 
We -e those, who had from him the clew 

To that dread vault to go. 
Victim and executioner 
Were blind-fold when "transported there. 
In low dark rounds the arches hung. 
From the i-ude rock the side- walls sprung; 
The grave-stones, rudely sculj.tured o'er, 
Half sunk in earth, by time half wore, 
Were all the pavement of the iloor; 
The mildew drops fell one by one, 
With tinkling plash, upon the stone. 
A cresset,* in an iron chain, 
Which served to light this drear domain. 
With damp and darkness seemed to striv^ 
As if it scarce might keep alive; 
And yet it dimly served to show 
'iiio awful conclave met below. 

XIX. 

There, met to doom in secrecy, 

VVere placed the heads of convents tliree: 

* Antique chaDdelier. 



141 



CANTO n.1 MARMION. 

All servants of Saint Benedict, 
The statutes of whose order otrict 

Ou iron t^P^ lay ; 
In long blacK dress, on seats of stone, 
Behind were these three judges saown. 

By the pale cresset's ray : 
1 lie Abbess of Saint Hilda's there, 
.Sate for a space with visage bare, 
Until, to hide her bosom's swell, 
And tear-drops that for pity fell, 

She closely drew her veil : 
Yon shrouded figure, as I guess, 
By her proud mien and Howing dress, 
Is Tynemouth's haughty Prioress,* 

And she with awe looks pale : 
And he, that Ancient Man, whose sight 
Has long been quenched by age's night, 
Upon whose wrinkled brow alone. 
Nor ruth, nor mercy's trace is shown. 

Whose look is hard and stern, — 
Saint Cuthbert's Abbot is his style; 
For sanctity called, through the isle. 

The Saint of Lindisfarn. 



Before them stood a guilty pair; 
But, though an equal fate they share. 
Yet one alone deserves our care. 
Her sex a page's dress belied ; 
The cloak and doublet, loosely tied, 
Obscured her charms, but could not hida 

Her cap down o'er her face she drew; 
And, on her doublet breast. 

She tried to hide the badge of blue, 
Lord Marmion's falcon crest. 
But, at the Prioress" command, 
A Monk undid the silken band. 

That tied her tresses fair, 
And raised the bonnet from her head. 
And down her slender form they spread. 

In ringlets rich and rare. 

» As in the case of 'VNTiitbv :ind nf Holy Island, the intrcdnction 
of nuns HI Tvneinoutu, irt cue reigu or Hoary VIIL, is an au(t> 
chroniiim. 



^ '^2 MARMION. [CANTO II 

Constance de Beverly they know. 

Sister professed of Fontevraud, 

Whom the church numbered with theV^M), 

For broken vows, and convent lied. 



When thus her face was given to view, 

(Although so pallid was her hue, 

It did a ghastly contrast bear. 

To those bright ringlets glistering fair,) 

Her look composed, and steady eye, 

Bespoke a matcldess constancy ; 

And there she stood so calm and pale, 

That, but her breathing did not fail, 

And motion slight of eye and head, 

And of her bosom, warranted. 

That neither sense nor pulse she lacks, 

You might have thought a form of wax. 

Wrought to the life, was there ; 

So still she was, so pale, so fair. 

XXII. 

Her comrade was a sordid soul. 

Such as does murder for a meed ; 
Who, but of fear, knows no controul, 
Because his conscience, seared and foul. 

Feels not the import of his deed ; 
One, whose bnate-feeling ne'er aspires 
Beyond his own more brute desires. 
Such tools the tempter ever needs, 
To do the savagest of deeds ; 
F'orthem no visioned terrors daunt, 
Their nights no fancied spectres haunt ; 
One fear with them, of all most base, 
The fear of death, — alone finds place. 
This wretch was clad in frock and cowl, 
And shamed not loud to moan and howl, 
His body on the floor to dash. 
And crouch, like hound beneath the lash) 
While his mute partner, standing near. 
Waited her doom without a tear. 



CATON 110 BIARMION. 14S 

xxni. 
Yet -well the luclaess Avxetch miglit shriek. 
Well might her paleness terror speak ! 
For there were seen, in that dark wall, 
Two niches, narrow, deep, and tall. 
W ho enters at such grie^iy door, 
Shall ne'er, I ween, tiud exit more. 
In each a slender meal was laid, 
r*r roots, of water, and of bread : 
iiy each, in Benedictine dress, 
Two haggard monks stood motionless ; 
Who, holding high a blazing torch, 
Showed the grim entrance of the porch : 
Retlecting back the smoky beam, 
The dark-red walls and arches gleara. 
Hewn stones and cement were displayed, 
And building tools in order laid.* 

XXIV. 

These executioners were chose. 
As men who were with mankind foes, 
And, with despite and en\7- hred, 
Into the cloister had retired ; 

Or who, in desperate doubt of grace. 

Strove, by deep penance, to efface 
Of some foul crime the stain ; 

For, as the vassals of her will, 

Such men the church selected still. 

As either joyed in doing ill. 
Or thought more grace to gain, 
If. in her cause, they wrestled down 
Feelings their natvu-e strove to own. 
By strange device were they brought there, 
They knew not how, and knew not where. 

XXV. 

And now that blind old Abbot rose, 
To speak the Chapter's doom, 

« It is well known, that the religions who broke their rom of 
chastity, were subjected to the same penalty as the Roman restiUa 
In a «imil<ir case. \ aaall niche, sufficient to enclose their bodies, 
Tras made in tha uiaasn-e wall of the convent; a slender pittance 
of foo.l and water was dfci>03ited in it, and the awtul words, Vao« 
IX P^CEikt, were the signal for immuring the oruainal. 



144 MARMION. 

On those the wall was to enclose, 
Alive, within the tomb ; 

But stopped, because that woeful iriaTtl, 

Gathering her powers, to speak essayed. 

Twice she essayed, and twice in vain; 

tier accents, might no utterance gain; 

\' ought but imperfect murmurs slip 

Krom her convulsed and quivering lip : 
'Twixt each attempt all was so still, 
You seemed to hear a distant rili— 

'Twas ocean's swells and falls ; 
For though this vault of sin and fear 
Was to the sounding surge so near, 
A tempedt there you scarce could hoar, 
So massive were the walls. 

XXVI, 

At length, an effort sent apart 

The blood that curdled to her heart. 

And light came to her eye, 
And colour dawned upon her cheek, 
A hectic and a Huttered streak. 
Like that left on the Cheviot peak. 

By Autumn's stormy sky ; 
And when her silence broke at length. 
Still as she spoke, she gathered strength. 

And armed herself to bear. 
It was a fearful sight to see 
Such high resolve and constancy. 

In form so soft and fair. 

XXVII. 
" I .speak not to implore your grace ; 
Well know I, for one minute's space 

Successless might I sue : 
Nor /to I speak your prayers to gain ; 
For if a death of lingering pain. 
To cleanse my sins, be penance vain. 

Vain are your masses too. — 
I listened to a traitor's tale, 
I left the convent and the veil. 
For three long years 1 bowed my priticu 
A horse boy in his train to ndej 



I HANTO 



CANTO n.] M.illMXON. 

And well ray folly's meed lie gave, 
Who forfeited, to be his slave, 
All here, and all beyoud the grave. — 
He saw young Clara's face more fair, 
He knew her of broad lauds* the heir, 
Forgot his vows, his faith forswore. 
And Constance was beloved no more. — 
"lis an old tale, and often told ; 

But, did my fate and wish agree, 
Ne'er had been read, in story old. 
Of maiden true betrayed for gold. 

That loved, or was avenged, like ma I 

XXVIII. 

•' The king approved his favourite's aim ; 
In vain a rival barred his claim, 

^\'hose faith with Clare's was plight, 
For he attaints that rival's fame 
With treason's charge — and on they came, 

In mortal lists to tight 
Their oaths are said. 
Their prayers are prayed. 
Their lances in the rest are laid. 

They mept in mortal shtick ; • 
And hark ! the throng, with thundering erf 
Shout, ' Mannion, Marniion, to the sky ! 

De Wilton to the block !' 
Say ye, who preach heaven shall decide, 
When in the lists two champions ride. 

Say, was heaven's justice here ? 
When, loyal in his love and faith, 
Wilton found overthrow or death. 

Beneath a traitor's spear. 
How false the charge, now true he fell, 
This guilty packet best can tell." — 
Tlien drew a packet from her breast. 
Paused, gathered voice, and spoke the rest. 

XXIX. 

"Still was false Marmion's bridal staid; 
To Whitby's convent tied the maid. 
The hated match to shun. 



-i5 



146 MARMlOjJi. [CAKTD II. 

*Ho ! shifts she thus?' King Henry cried, 
' Sir Marmion, she shall be thy bride. 

If she were sworn a nun.' 
One way remained — the king's commaud 
Sent Marmion to the Scottish land : 
1 lingered here, and rescue plaun'd 

For Clara and for me : 
This caitiff Monk, for gold, did swear, 
He would to Whitby's shrine repair, 
And, by his drugs, my rival fair 

A saint in heaven should be. 
But ill the dastard kept his oath. 
Whose cowardice hath undone us both. 



*' And now ray tongue the secret tells, 
Not that remorse my bosom swells. 
But to assure my soul, that none 
Shall ever wed Vv'ith Marmion. 
Had fortune my last hope betrayed, 
This packet, to the king conveyed, 
Had given him to the headsman's stroke, 
Although my heart that instant broke. — 
Now, men of death, work forth your will, 
For I can suffer, and be still ; 
And come he slow, or come he fast, 
[t is but death who comes at last. 



" Yet dread me, from my living tomb, 
Ve vassal sla^'es of bloody Rome ! 
If Marmion's late remorse should wake, 
Full soon such vengeance will he take, 
That you shall wish the fieiy Dane 
Had rather been your guest again. 
Behind, a darker hour ascends ! 
The altars quiike, the crosier bends. 
The ire of a despotic king 
Rides forth upon destruction's wing; 
Then shall these vaults, so strong and deep, 
Burst open to the sea-winds' sweep ; 
Some traveller then shall nnd my bones, 
Whitening amid disjointed stones, 



CANTO 11] MARM10^. 147 

And, ignorant of priests' cruelty. 
Marvel such relics here should be." — 

XXXII. 

Fixed w^s her look, and stern her air; 
Back from her shoulders streamed her hair 
The locks, that wout her brow to shade, 
Starevi up erectly from her head ; 
iJer figxire seemed to rise more high; 
Her voice, despair's wild energy 
Had given a tone of prophecy. 
Appalled the astonished conclave sate ; 
V\ ith stupid eyes, the men of fate 
Gazed on the light inspired form. 
And listened for the avenffin? storm; 
The judges felt the nctim s dreml; 
No hand was moved, no word wtu said^ 
Pill thus the Abbot's doom was given. 
Raising his sightless balls to heavan: — 
"Sister, let thy sorrows cease; 
Sinful brother, part in peace !" — 

From tliat dire dungeon, place of doom. 

Of execution too, and tombj^ 
Paced forth the judges ttiree ; 

Sorrow it were, and shame, to tell 

The butcher- work that there befell. 

When they had glided from, the ceil 
Of sin and misery. 

XXXIII. 

An hundred winding steps convey 
That conclave to the upper day ; 
But, ere they breathed the fiesher air, 
Tliey heard "the shriekings of despair. 

And many a stifled groan : 
With speed their upward way they tako, 
(Such speed as age and fear can make,) 
And crossed themselves for terror's sakCj 

As hurrying, tottering on. 
Even in the vesper's heavenly tone, 
They seemed to hear a dying groan. 
And bade the passing knell to toll 
For welfai-o of a parting bouL 



I 

2^3 



f CANTO m 



Slo-w o'er fhe midnight -wave it sv,iing, 
Northumbrian rocks in answer rung ; 
To Warkwoilh cell the echoes rolled, 
tjis beads the wakeful hermit told ; 
The Bamborough peasant raised his head. 
But slept ere half a prayer he said ; 
So far Avas heard the mighty knell. 
The stag sprung up on Cheviot Fell, 
Spread his broad nostril to the wind^ 
Listed before, aside, behind ; 
Then couched him down beside the hind. 
And quaked among the mountain fern. 
To hear that sound so dull and stem. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD. 

To William Erskine, Esq. 

Ashesliel, Ettrioke Fprest, 
Like April morning clouds, that pass, 
With varying shadow, o'er the grass, 
And imitate, on Held and furrow, 
Life's chequered scene of joy and sorrow; 
Like streamlet of the mountain north. 
Now in a torrent racing forth. 
Now winding slow its silver train, 
And almost slumbering on the plain; 
Like breezes of the autumn day. 
Whose voice inconstant dies away, 
And ever swells again as fast, 
When the ear deems its murmur past; 
Thus various, my romantic theme 
Flits, winds, or sinks, a morning dreana. 
Yet pleased, our eye pursues the trace 
Of Light and Shade's inconstant race; 
Pleased, views the rivulet afar, 
Weaving its maze irregular; 
And pleased, we listen as the breeze 
Heaves its wild sigh through Autumn lre«B. 
Then wild as cloud, or sticarn, or gale, 
I'Tow on, liow uucouhuod, my lalo. 



:;a:.Ti, in.] marmion. 149 

Neod I to thee, dear Erskine, tell, 
I love the licence all too well, 
In sound now lowly, and now strong. 
To raise the desultory song ? — 
Oft, when mid such capricious chime, 
Some transient Ht of loftier rh)nn«. 
To thy kind judgment seemed excuse 
For many an error of the muse ; 
Oft hast thou said, '* If still mis-spent, 
Thine hours to poetry are lent, 
Go, and to tame thy wandering course, 
Quaif from the foimtaia at the souice ; 
Approach. those masters, o'er whose tomb 
Immortal laurels ever bloom : 
Instructive of the feebler bard. 
Still from the grave their voice is heard ; 
From them, and frgm the paths they show*d 
Choose honoured guide and firactised road; 
Nor ramble on through brake and mazo, 
With harpers rude of barbarous days. 

" Or deem'st thou not our later timo 
Yields topic meet for classic rhyme? 
Hast thou no elegiac verse 
For Brunswick's venerable hearse ? 
What ! not a line, a tear, a sigh, ., , 
When valour bleeds for libeily ? — 
Oh, hero of that glorious time. 
When, with unrivalled light sublime, — • 
Though martial Austria, and though all 
The might of Russia, and the Gaul, 
Though banded Europe stood her foes — 
The star of Brandenburgh arose. 
Thou could'st not live to see her beam 
For ever quenched in Jena's stream. 
Lamented chief! — it was not given, 
To thee to change the doom of heaven, j 

And crush that dragon in his biith, 
Predestined scourge of guilty earth. 
Lamented chief! — not thine the power, 
To save in that presumptuous hour, 
Wlien Pmssia hurried to the field, 
And soatchod the spear, but left the shield: 



J 50 



[CANTO 



Valour and skill 'twas thine to try. 
And, tried in vain, 'twas thine to die. 
Ill had it seemed thy silver hair 
The last, the bitteiest pang to share, 
For princedoms reft, and scutcheons riven. 
And birthrights to usurpers given; 
Thy land's, thy children's wrongs to feel. 
And witness woes thou could'st not heal ! 
On thee relenting heaven bestows 
For honoured life an honoured close ; 
And when revolves, in time's sure change, 
The hour of Germany's revenge. 
When, breathing fury for her sake, 
Some new Arrainius shall awake. 
Her champion, ere he strike, shall como 
To whet his sword on Brunswick's tomb. 

" Or of the Red-Cross hero teach, 
Dauntless in dungeon as on breach : 
Alike to him the sea, the shore, 
The brand, the bridle, or the oar ; 
Alike to him the war that calls 
Its votaries to the shattered walls, 
Which the grim Turk besmeared with blood, 
Against the Invincible made good ; 
Or that, whose thundering voice could wake 
The silence of the polar lake. 
When stubboi-n Russ, and metal'd Swede, 
On the warped wave their death-game played ■ 
Or that, where vengeance and affright 
Howl'd round the father of the fight. 
Who snatched on Alexandria's sand 
The conqueror's wreath with dying hand. 

" Or, if to touch such chord be thine, 
Restore the ancient tragic line. 
And emulate the notes that rung 
From the wild harp which silent hung, 
By silver Avon's holy shore, 
Till twice an hundred years rolled o'er; 
When sne, the bold Enchantress, came. 
With fearhss hand and heart on Hame ! 
From the pale willow snatched the treasur*, 
And swept it with a kindred measure, 



151 



CAl«fTO III,] MARMION, 

Till Avon's swans, while rung the grove 
With Monfort's hate and Basil's love, 
Awakening at the inspired strain, 
Deemed their oavh Shakspeare lived again.' 



Thy friendship thus thy judgment wronging, ! 

With praises not to me belonging, I 

In task more meet for mightiest powers, '■ 

'Would'zt thou engage my thriftless houra. t 

But say, my Erskine, hast thou weighed J 

That secret power by all obeyed. 
Which wa.rps not less the passive mind, 
Its source concealed or undetiued ; 
Whether an impulse, that has biith 
Soon as the infant wakes on earth, 
One with our feelings and our powers, 
And rather part of us than ours ; 
Or whether fitlier termed the sway 
Of ha^)it, formed in early day ? 
However derived, itsJorce confessed 
Rules with despotic sAvay the.breastj 
And drags us on by viewless chain. 
While taste and reason plead in vain. 
Look east, and ask the Belgian why. 

Beneath Batavia's sultry sky, ,' 

He seeks not eager to inhale \ 

The freshness of the mountain gale. 

Content to rear his whitened wall i 

Beside the dank and dull canal ? 

He'll say, from youth he loved to see i 

The white sail gliding by the tree. j 

Or see yon weather-beaten hind, I 

Whose sluggish herds before him wind, \ 

Whose tattered plaid and rugged cheek • 

His n orthern clime and kindred speak ; 

Through England's laughing meads he goes, j 

And England's wealth around him flows : ; 

Ask if it would content him well, j 

At ease in these gay plains to dwell. 

Where hedge-rows spread a verdant screen, i 

And spires and forests intervene, . ! 

And the neat cottage peeps between? 



152 MARMION. [CANTO 1 

No ! not for these will he exchange 
His dark Lochaber's boundless range, 
Nor for fair Devon's meads forsake 
Bennevis grey and Gany's lake. 

Thus, while I ape the measure wild 
Of tales that charmed me yet a child, 
Rude though they be, still with the chime 
Return the thoughts of early time ; 
And feelings, roused in life's tirst day, 
Glow in the line, and prompt the lay. 
Then rise those crags, that mountain tower, 
Which charmed my fancy's wakening hour. 
Though no broad river swept along, 
To claim, perchance, heroic song ; 
Though sighed no groves in summer gale. 
To prompt of love a softer tale ; 
Though scarce a puny streamlet's speed 
Claimed homage from a shepherd's reed; 
Yet was poetic impulse given, 
By the green hill and clear blue heaven. 
It was a barren scene, and wild, 
Where naked cliffs were rudely piled ; 
But ever and anon between 
Lay velvet tufts of loveliest green; 
And well the lonely infant knew 
Recesses where the wall-llower grew, 
And honey-suckle loved to crawl 
Up the low crag and i-uined wall ; 
I deemed such nooks the sweetest shade 
The sun in all his round surveyed ; 
And still I thought that shattered tower 
The mightiest work of human power ; 
And marvelled, as the aged hind 
With some strange tale bewitched my mini. 
Of forayers, who, with headlong force, 
Down from that strength had spurred their horse 
Their southei-n rapine to renew. 
Far in the distant Cheviots blue. 
And, home returning, tilled the hall 
With revel, wassel-rout, and brawl. — 
Methought that still with tramp and clang 
The gate- way's broken arciws rang ; 



CANTO nt] 



MABMION. 153 



Methought grim features, seamed with scaiB, 

Glared through the windows' nisty bars. 

And ever, by the winter hearth. 

Old tales I fieard of woe or mirth, 

Of lovers' sleights, of ladies' charms. 

Of witches' spells, of warriors' arms; 

Of patriot battles, won of old 

By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold; 

Of later fields of feud and fight. 

When, pouring from their Highland height, 

The Scottish ciaus, in headlong sway. 

Had swept the scarlet ranks away. 

While stretched at length upon the floor, 

Again I fought each combat o'er, 

Pebliles and shells, in order laid. 

The mimic ranks of war displayed ; 

And onward still the Scottish Lion bore. 

And still the scattered Southron fled before. 

Still, with vain fondness, could I trace. 
Anew, each kind familiar face, 
That brightened at viv evening fire; 
Fi'om the thatched mansion's grey-haired Sirfe 
Wise without learning, plain and good, 
And sprung of Scotland's gentler blood ; 
Whose eye in age, quick, clear, and keen, 
Showed what in youth its glance had been ; 
Whose doom discording neighbours sought, 
Content with equity unbought ; 
To him the venerable Priest, 
Our frequent and familiar guest. 
Whose life and manners well could paint 
Alike the student and the saint; 
Alas ! whose speech too oft I broke 
With gambol i-ude and timeless joke: 
For I was wayward, bold, and wild, 
A self-wiU'd imp, a grandame's child;' 
But half a plague, and half a jest, 
A\'as still endured, beloved!^ carest. 

From me, thus nurtured, dost thou ask 
The classic poet's well-conned task ? 
Nay, Erskine, nav — on the wild hill 
Let the wild heatlibell flourish still; 
g2 



154 MAUMION. [CANTO IB, 

Cherish the tulip, prune the vine, 
But freely let the woodbine twine, 
And leave untrimmed the eglantine : 
Nay, mv friend, nay — since oft thy praise 
Hath given fresh vigour to ray lays, 
Since oft thy judgrrient could refine 
My flattened thought, or cumbrous line. 
Still kind, as is thy wont, attend. 
And in the minstrel spare the friend. 
Though wild as cloud, as streams, as gale, 
Flow forth, flow unrestrained, my tale I * 



CANTO THIRD. 

Ctie ?i)osteI, or Inn. 
I. 

The livelong day Lord Marmion rode ; 
The mountain path the Palmer showed ; 
By glen and streamlet winded ?^A11, 
Where stunted birches hid the rill. 
They might not choose the lowland road. 
For the Merso forayers were abroad, 
Who, tired with hate and thirst of prey 
Had scarcely failed to bar their way. 
Oft on the trampling band, from crown 
Of some tall clitf, the deer looked down ; 
On wing of jet. from his repose 
In the deep heath, the black-cock rose; 
Sprung from the gorse the timid roe. 
Nor waited for the bending bow; 
And Avhen the stony path began, 
By which the naked peak they wan. 
Up flew the snowy ptarmigan. 
The noon had long been passed before 
They gained the height of Lammermoor 
Theiice winding down the northern way 
Before them, at the close of day. 
Old Gifford's towers and hamlet lay. 

II. 
No summoas calls them to the tO'WST) 
To fipend the hospitable hour. 



CANTO m.] MARMION. I5d 

To Scotland's camp the Lord wjus gone ; 

His cautious dame, in bower alone, 

Dreaded her castle to unclose, 

So late, to unknown friends or foes. 
On through the hamlet as they paced, 
Before a porch, whose front was graced 
With bush and tlaggon trimly placeu. 

Lord Marmion drew his rein : 
Tlie village inn* seemed large, though rude 
Its cheeiful hre and hearty food 
Might well relieve his tiain. 

Dowii from their seats the horsemen sprung. 

With jingling spurs the court-yard rung; 

They bind their horses to tlie stall, 

For forage, food, and tiriujjr call. 

And various clamour fills the hall. 

Weighing the labour with the cost, 

Toils everywhere the bustling host. 

III. 

Soon by the chimney's merry blaze. 
Through the nide hostel might you gaze ; 
Might see, where, in dark nook aloof, 
The rafters of the sooty roof 

Bore wealth of winter cheer; 
Of sea-fowl dried, and solands store, 
And gammons of the tusky boar, 

And savoury haunch of deer. 
The chimney arch projected wide; 
Above, around it, and beside, 

Were tools for housewives' hand: 
Nor wanted, in that martial day, 
The implements of Scottish fray. 

The buckler, lance, and brand- 
Beneath its shade, the place of state. 
On oaken settle Marmion sate, 

* If the Scottish inns were not good, it was not for want of en- 
couragement from the leiiisl.-ture; \vi>o, so early as the reign of 
James I., not only enacted, that in all boroughs art) faiis Iheie be 
hcisteilaries, havinif stables and chambers, and provision for man 
and horse, but, by another statute, ordained, that no man, travel- 
Uiiff on horse or foot, t-hould presume to lodt^e any where except 
In these hostellaries: .-j>d thcit no persrn. s ive innkeepers should 
receive such traveller , pnder ttxe penalty of forty shillingi, lot 
e:cerci8Uig such hospitaQ'./. 



166 MARMION. [CANTO III 

And viewed around the blazing hearth. 
His followers mix in noisy mirth, 
Whom with brown ale, in jolly tide. 
From ancient vessels ranged aside. 
Full actively their host supplied. 

IV. 

Their's was the glee of maitial breast, 
And laughter tiieir's at little jest; 
And ol't Lord Marmion deigned to aid. 
And mingle in the mirth they made 
For though, with men of high degree, 
The proudest of the proud was he. 
Yet, trained in camps, he knew the art 
To win the soldier's hardy heart. 
They love a captain to obey, 
lioisterous as March, yet fresh as May ; 
^^'iLh open hand, an<l brow as tree. 
Lover of wine, and minstrelsy; 
Ever the first to scale a tower. 
As venturous in a lady's bower :- 
Such bu.vom chief shall lead his host 
From India's fires to Zexiibla's frost. 

V. 

Besting upon his pilgrim staff, 

Right o{)posite the Palmer stood; 
His thin dark visage seen but half. 

Half hidden by his hood. 
Still Kxed on Marmion was his look, 
Which he, who ill such gaze could brook. 

Strove l)y a frown to quell ; 
But not for that, though more than one* 
Full met their stern encountering glance, 

The Palmer's visage fell. 

VI. 

By fits less frequent from the crowd 
Was heard the burst of laughter loud; 
For still, as squire and archer sfcired 
On that dark face and matted beard. 
Their glee and game decliuod. 



CANTO ni.] MARMION, 157 

All gazed at length in silence di'ear, 
Uubroke, save when in comrade's ear 
Some yeoman, wondering in his fear, 

Thus whispered forth his mind : — 
" Saint Mary ! saw'st thou e'er such sight ? 
Flow pale his cheek, his eye how bright. 
Whene'er the tire-braud's tickle light 

Glances beneath his cowl ! 
Full on our Lord he sets his eye ; 
For his best palfrey, would not I 

Endure that sullen scowl." — 

VII. 

But Marmion, as to chase the awe 

Which thus had quelled their hearts, who saw 

The ever-var\-ing tire- light show 

That figure stern and face of woe, 

Now called upon a squire : — 
*' Fitz- Eustace, kuow'st thou not some lay. 
To speed the lingering night away? 

We slumber by the fiie." — 

VIII. 

" So please you," thus the youth rejoined, 
" Our choicest minstrel's left behind. 
Ill may we hope to please your ear. 
Accustomed Constant's strains to hear. 
The harp full deftly can he strike. 
And wake the lover's lute alike; 
To dear Saint Valenoine, no thrush 
Sings livelier from a spring-tide bush ; 
No nightingale her love-lorn tune 
More sweetly warbles to the moon. 
Woe to the cause, whate'er it be, 
Detains from us his melody, 
Lavished on rocks, and billows stem. 
Or duller monks of Lindisfarn. 
Now must I venture as I may, , 
To sing his favourite roundelay." — 



A mellow voice Fitz-Eustace had. 
The air he chose was wild and sod ; 



158 MARMION. [CAP 

Such have I heard, in Scottish land, 
Rise from the busy harvest band. 
When falls before the mountaineer, 
On lowland plains, the ripened ear. 
Now one shrill voice the notes prolong, 
Now a wild chorus swells the song : 
Oft have 1 listened, and stood still. 
As it came softened up the hill, 
And deemed it the lament of men 
Who languished for their native glen ; 
And thought, how sad would be such sound* 
On Susquehana's swampy ground, 
Kentucky's wood-encumbered brake, 
Or wild Ontario's boundless lake, 
Wliere heart-sick exiles, in the strain. 
Recalled fair Scotland's hills again 1 



Song. 

Where shall the lover rest, 

Whom the fates sever 
From his true maiden's breast, 

r*arted for ever ? 
Where, through groves deep and high. 

Sounds the far billow, 
Where early violets die, 

Under the willow. 

CHORUS. 

Eleu loro, &c. Soft shall be his pillow. 

There, through the summer day, 

Cool streams are laving ; 
There, while the tempests sway 

Scarce are boughs ^vaving ; 
There, thy rest shait thou Ime, 

Palled forever, 
Never again to wake. 

Never, O never. 

CHORUS. 

JE?e« loro. &c Never. O nevet. 



•lANTO mo MARRUON. 159 

XI. 

Where shall the traitor rest. 

He, the deceiver, 
TVTio could win maiden's breast, 

Ruin, and leave her ? 
In the lost battle, 

Borne down by the flying, 
Where mingles war's rattle. 

With groans of the dying. 

CHORUS. 

Eleu lorOf &c. There shall he be ly!i)g. 

Her -wing shall the eagle flap. 

O'er the false-hearted ; 
His warm blood the wolf shall lap, 

Ere life be parted. 
Shame and dishonour sit 

By his grave ever ; 
Blessing shall hallow it, — 

Never, O never. 

CHORUS. 

Eleu loro, Sec. Never, O never. 



It ceased, the melancholy sound; 
And silence sunk on all around. 
The air was sad ; but sadder still 

It fell on MaiTn ion's ear. 
And plained as if disgrace and ill. 
And shameful death, were near. 
He drew his mail tie past his face, 

Between it and the band. 
And rested with his head a space, 
Reclining on his hand. 
His thoughts I scan not; but I ween, 
That, could their import have been seen, 
The meanest groom in all the hall, 
That e'er tied courser to a stall. 
Would scarce bive wished to be their prey. 
For Lutterward and Foutenaye. 



160 MARMION. CCANTO Itt 

XIII. 

High minds, of native pride and force, 
Most deeply feel thy pangs. Remorse! 
Fear for their scourge, mean villains have. 
Thou art the torturer of the brave ; 
Yet fatal strength they boast to steel 
Their minds to bear the wounds tbey feel ; 
Even while they writhe beneath the smart 
Of civil conflict in the heart. 
For soon Lord Marmion raised his head. 
And, smiling, to Fitz-Eustace said: — 
" l8 it not strange, that, as ye sung, 
Seemed in mine ear a death-peal rung, 
Sucb as in nunneries they toll 
For some departing sister's soul? 

Say, what may this portend ?" 
Tlien first the Palmer silence broke, 
(The livelong day he had not spoke,) 

"The death of a dear friend."* 

XIV. 

Marmion, whose steady heart and eye 
Ne'er changed in worst extremity; 
Marmion, whose soul could scantly brook, 
Even from his king, a haughty look ; 
Whose accent of command controlled, 
In camps the boldest of the bold — 
Thought, look, and utteiance, failed him now. 
Fallen was his glance, and Hushed his brow : 

For either in the tone. 
Or something in the Palmer's look, 
So full upon his conscience strook, 

That answer he found none. 
Thus oft it haps, that when within 
They shrink at sense of secret aut, 

A feather ilaunts the brav© : 
A fool's wild speech confouuuj t.ie wise. 
And proudest princes vail their eyea 

Before their meanest slave. 



• Among^ nthpr omens amojiji, ...i. iw-ottfsh peaanntry, is what ii 
called the "dead- bell ;" tliat tiul.liiif:- i.i the ears wliith the oooiito 
fopie regard as the secret iutelligeiice ot some Jriend a tl«K;8a«^ 



CA>'T^', in. J MA-RMION, l61 

XV. 

Well might he falter I- by his aid 

^^'as Constance Dcverley betrayed; 

Not that he augnrM of the doom. 

Which on the living closed the ton.l; 

But tired to hear the desperate maid 

Threaten by turns, beseech, upbraid, 

And v.TOth, because, in wild despair, 

She pracnsed on the life of Clare ; 

Its fugitive the church he gave. 

Though not a victim, but a slave ; 

And deemed restraint in convent strange, 

Would hide her wrongs, and her revenge. 

Himself, proud Henry's favourite peer. 

Held Romish thunders idle fear, 

Secure his pardon he might hold, 

For some slight raulct of penance-gold. 

Thus judging, he ga^e secret way, 

When the stern pnosts surprised their prey 

His train but deemed the favourite page 

Was left behind, to spare his ge ; 

Or other if they deemed, none dared 

To mutter what he thought and heard : 

Woe to the vassal, who durst piy 

Into Lord Marmion s privacy ! 



His conscience slept — ^he deemed her well. 
And safe secured in distant cell ; 
But wakened by her favourite lay, 
And that strange Palmer's boding say, 
That fell so ominous and drear, 
Full on the object of his fear, 
To aid remorse's venomed throes, 
Dark tales of convent vengeance rose ; 
And Constance, late betrayed and scorned. 
All lovely on his soul returned : 
Lovely as when, at treacherous call, 
She left her convent's peaceful wall. 
Crimsoned with shame, with terror mute, 
Dreading alike escape, pursuit, 
Till love, victorious o er alarm;, 
Hid fears and blushes m his arms 



[CANTO n 



XVII. 

" Alas !" he thought, " how changed that mien I 

How changed these timid looks have been. 

Since years of guilt, and of disguise. 

Have steeled her brow, and armed her eyes \ 

No more of virgin terror speaks 

The blood that mantles in her cheeks ; 

Fierce, and unfeminine, are there, 

Frenzy for joy, for grief despair ; 

And 1 the cause — for whom were given 

Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven ! — 

Woald," thought he, as the pictui'e grows, 

" I on its stalk had left the rose ! 

Oh why should man's success remove 

The very charms that wake his love ! 

Her convent's peaceful solitude 

Is now a prison harsh and rude ; 

And, pent within the narrow cell, 

How will her spirit chafe and swell ! 

How brook the stern monastic laws ! 

The penance how — and I the cause ! 

Vigil and scourge — ^perchance even worse !'*• — 

And twice he rose to cry " to horse !" 

And twice his sovereign's mandate came. 

Like damp upon a kindling flame ; 

And twice he thought, " Gave I not charge 

She should be safe, though not at large ? 

They durst not, for their island, shred 

One golden ringlet from her head." — 

XVIII. 

WTiile thus in Marmion's bosom strove 

Repentance and reviving love, 

Like whirlwinds, Avhose contending sway 

I've seen Loch Vennachar obey. 

Their Host the Palmer's speech had heard. 

And, talkative, took up the word : — 

" Ay, reverend Pilgiim, you, who stray 

From Scotland's simple land away, 
I'o visit realms aiar. 

Full often learn the art to know. 

Of future weal, or future woe, 
By word, or sign, or star ; 



CANTO m.3 MARMION. 163 

Yet might a kniglit his fortune hear, 
If, knight-like, he despises fear. 
Not far from hence ; — ii fathers old 
Aright our hamlet legend told." — 
These broken words the menials move, 
(For marvels still the vulgar love ;) 
And, Mai-mion giving licence cold. 
His tale the host thus gladly told. 

XIX. 

The Host's Talk. 
" A flerk could tell what years have floYm 
Since Alexander filled our throne, 
(Third monarch of that warlike name,) 
And eke the time when here he came 
To seek Sir Hugo, then our lord : 
A braver never drew a sword ; 
A wiser never, at the hour 
Of midnight, spoke the word of power; 
The same, whom ancient records call 
The founder of the Goblin-Hall.* 
T would, Sir Knight, your longer stay 
Gave you that cavern to survey. 
Of lofty roof, and ample size, 
Beneath the castle deep it lies : 
To hew the living rock profound. 
The lloor to pave, the arch to round, 
There never toiled a mortal arm. 
It all was wrought by word and charm ; 
And I have heard my grandsire say, 
That the wild clamoui- and affray 
Of those dread artisans of hell. 
Who laboured under Hugo's spell, 
Sounded as loud as ocean's war, 
^\jnong the caverns of Dunbar. 

XX. 

•' The king Lord Gifford's castle sought, 
Deep-laboming with imcertain thought : 

* A vaulted hall under the .Tncient cnstle of Oifford, or Tester, 
(tor it bears either nain<> iiiditTtiently,) tlie construction ol which 
has. from a very remoto jieriod. been ascribed to nuu^c 



164 MARmON. LCANTO OL 

Even then he mustered all his host, 

To meet upon the vrftstern coast ; 

For Norse and Danish galleys plied 

Their oars within the ti.'th of Clyde. 

There floated Haco's banner trim,* 

Above Norvveyan warriors grira» 

Savage of heart, and large of limb ; 

Threatening both continent and isle, 

Bute, Arran, Cunninghame, and Kyle. 

Lord Gilford, deep beneath the ground^ 

Hejird Alexander s bugle sound, 

And tarried not his garb to change, 

But, in his wizard habit strange,T 

Came foith, — a quaint and fearful sight ! 

His mantle lined with fox-skins white; 

His high and wrinkled forehead bore 

A pointed cap, such as of yore 

Clerks say that Pharaoh's Magi wore; 

His sboes were marked with cross and spell; 

Upon his bieast a pentacle ;:J: 

His zone, of virgin parchment thin, 

Or, as some tell, of dead man's skin, 

Bore many a planetary sign. 

Combust, and retrograde, and trine; 

And in his hand he held prepared, 

A naked sword wthout a guard. 



" Dire dealings with the fiendish race 
Had marked strange lines upon his face; 
Vigil and fast had worn him grim, _ 
His eyesight dazzled seemed, and dim. 



» In 126S, Haco, King of Norway, came into the Firth of Clyde 
wUh a powerlul arinaineiit, aud made a descent at T,arg;s, in Ayr- 
ehiia He n-as enoonuteied and defeated, on the 2d Octob'-r. by 
Alexander III. Haco retreated to Orkney, where he died eoon 
after tWii» disgrace 

•♦ MagiriaiiR, as is well known, were verv curious in tlie clioioe 
and form of their \'est:nent8. The partii-uiais of Sir Hugo's <lroM 
are li> be found in the Disoourge cunoi-niing ne%-il!> and Spirits <«i>- 
nexed t<> Kkoin aI.d Sooxx't piivovury of Sfllcf'Cfafi, edition IrifiSi, 

; A peiitiicle is a piece of fine lineiv folied wifh five comt^rs, 
aocorduig to the live senses, and snilahiy insii:rihed with charito* 
ters. This the magician extends towai'ds the spirits Uich b« 
avokes. when tbev are stubborn ond rebeUioita 



CiVNTO m.] MARMION. Io5 

As one unused to upper day; 
Even his own menials with dismay 
Beheld, Sir Knight, the griesly siie, 
In this unwonted wild attire ; — 
Unwonted, for traditions run, 
He seldom thus beheld the sun. 
' I know,' he said, — his voice was hoarse, 
And broken seemed its hollow force, — 
' I know the cause, although untold. 
Why the king seeks his vassal's hold : 
Vainly from me my liege would know 
His kingdom's future weal or woe : 
But yet, if strong his arm and heart, 
His coui'age may do more than art. 

XXII. 
" ' Of middle air the demons proud, 
Who ride upon the racking cloud, 
Can read, in fixed or wandering star, 
The issue of events afar ; 
But still their sullen aid withhold 
Save when by mightier force controlled. 
Such late I summoned to my hall ; 
And though so potent was the call, 
That scarce the deepest nook of hell 
I deemed a refuge from the spell, 
Yet, obstinate in silence still, 
The haughty demon mocks my skill. 
But thou, — who little know'st thy might, 
As bom upon that blessed night,* 
When yawning graves, and dying groan, 
Proclaimed hell's empire overthrown, — 
With untaught valour shalt compel 
Response denied to magic spell.' — 
' Grainercy,' quoth our monarch free, 
' Place him but front to front with me, 
And, by this good and honoured brand, 
The gift of Coeur-de- Lion's hand, 
Soothly I swear, that, tide what tide. 
The demon shall a buffet bide.' — 

* It is a popular article of faith, that those who are l>ora en 
Christinas, m- Good-Kri.iay, have thu poirer of seeing spirits and 
eveu ui'couunandiiip; the'iu 



166 



CCANTO 1 



His bearing bold the "wizard viewed, 
And thus, well pleased, his speech renewed. — 
'There spoke the blood of Malcolm ! — mark: 
Forth pacing hence, at midnight dark, 
The rampart seek, whose circling crown 
Crests the ascent of )'onder down ; 
A southern entrance shalt thou tind ; 
There halt, and there thy bugle wind, 
And trust thine elHa foe to see, 
In guise of thy worst enemy: 
Couch then thy lance, and spur thy steed— 
Upon him ! and Saint George to speed! 
If he go down, thou soon shalt know, 
WTiate'er these airy sprites can show ; — 
If thy heart fail thee in the strife, 
X axu no warrant for thy life.' — 

xxm, 

" Soon as the midnight bell did ring. 

Alone, and araaed, rode forth the king 

To that old camp's deserted round : — 

Sir Knight, you well might mark the mound 

Left hand the town. — the Pictish race 

The trench, long since, in blood did trace ; 

The moor around is brown and bare, 

The space within is green und fair. 

The spot our village children know, 

For there the earliest wild flowers grow; 

But woe betide the wandering wight, 

That treads its circle in the night ! 

The breadth across, a bowshot clear. 

Gives ample space for full career; 

Opposed to the four points of heaven. 

By four deep gaps is entrance given. 

The southernmost our monarch pasf, 

Halted, and blew a gallant blast; 

And on the north, within the ring. 

Appeared the form of England's king j 

W ho then a thousand leagues afar. 

In Palestine waged holy war : 

Yet arms like England's did he wield. 

Alike the leopards in tha shield. 



LGA2fT0 m. MAUMION. 

Alike his Syrian courser's frame, 
The rider's length of limb the same : 
liong afterwards did Scotland know. 
Fell Edward* was her deadliest foe. 



*' The vision made our monarch start, 
But soon he mann'd his noble heart, 
And in the first career they ran, 
The Elfin Knight fell horse and man; 
Yet did a splinter of his lance 
Through Alexander's visor glance, 
And razed the skin — a puny wound. 
The king, light leaping to the ground, 
With naked blade his phantom foe 
Compelled the future war to show. 
Of Largs he saw the glorious plain, 
Where still gigantic bones remain, 

Memorial of the Danish war; 
Himself he saw, amid the field, 
On high his brandished war-axe wield, 
And strike proud Haco from his car, 
While, all around the shadowy kings. 
Denmark's gi'irrf ravens cower'd their vrinp 
'Tis said, that, in that awful night, 
Remoter visions met his sight. 
Fore-showing future conquests far, 
When our sons' sons wage northern war ; 
A royal city, tower and spire. 
Reddened the midnight sky with fire ; 
And shouting crews her navy bore, 
Triumphant, to the victor shore. 
Such signs may learned clerks explain, 
They pass the wit of simple swain. 



" The joj'fuUking turned home again, 
Headed his host, and quelled the Danej 
But yearly, when returned the night 
Of his strange combat with the sprite. 
His woimd must bleed and smart ; 

* Kdwnrd I., surnomed LongshanXs. 



J07 



i.88 MARMION. [canto III- 

Lord Gifford then would gibing say, 
' Bold as ye were, my liege, ye pay 

The penance of your start. 
Long since, beneath Dunfermline's nave, 
King Alexander (ills his grave, 

Our Lady give hira rest! 
Yet still the nightly spear and shield 
'riie elfin warrior doth wield. 

Upon the brown hill's breast; 
And many a knight hath proved his chance 
111 the charmed ring to break a lauce. 

But all have foully sped ; 
Save two, as legends tell, and they 
Were Wallace wight, and Gilbert Hay. — = 

Gentles, my tale is said." — 

XXVI. 

The quaighs* were deep, the liquor strong. 
And on the tale the yeoman thrung 
Had made a comment sage and long, 

But Marmion gave a sign ; , 

And, with their lord, the squires retire; 
The rest, around the hostel fire, 

Their drowsy limbs recline ; 
For pillow, underneath each head, 
The quiver and the targe were laid: 
Deep slumbering on the hostel lloor, 
0))pressed with toil and ale, they snore. 
The dying flame, in fitful change. 
Threw on the group its shadows strange 

xx\ ri. 

Apart, and nestling in the hay 
Of a waste loft, Fitz- Eustace lay; 
Scarce, by the pale moonlight, were seen 
The foldings of his mantle green : 
Lightly he dreamt, as youth will dream, 
Of sport by thicket, or by stream. 
Of hriwk or hound, of ring or glove, 
Or, lighter yet, of lady's love. 
A cautious tread hit' slumber broke. 
And, close beside him, wh«.n he woke, 

* A xrooilet cup. oomp.ised 3f staves hoop«d togetkm. 



CANTO HI.] MARMION. 169 

In moonbeam half, and half in gloom. 
Stood a tall form, wnli nodding plviine: 
But, ero his (Logger Eustace drew. 
His master Alamiion's voice he knew. 

xxvni. 
— " Fitz- Eustace : rise, — I cannot rest ; 
Yon churl's wild legend haunts my breast. 
And graver thoughts have chafed my mood { 
The air must cool my feverish blood ; 
And fain would I ride forth, to see 
The scene of elfin chivalry. 
Arise, and saddle me my steed ; 
And, gentle Eustace, take good heed 
Thou dost not rouse these drowsy slaves; 
I would not, that the prating knaves 
Had cause for saying, o'er their ale. 
That I could credit such a tale." — 
Then softly down the steps they slid, 
Eustace the stable door undid. 
And, darkling, IMarmion's steed arrayed. 
While, whispering, thus the Baroa eaid : — 

XXIX. 

'* Did'st never, good my youth, hear tell. 

That in the hour when I was born, 
Sf George, who graced my sire's chapelle, 
Down from his steed of marble fell, 

A weaiy wight forlorn ? 
The flattering cliaplains all agree. 
The champion left his steed to me. 
I would, the omen's truth to show, 
That I could meet this Elfin Foe ! 
Blithe would I battle, for the right 
To ask one question at the sprite : - 
V'^ain thought ! for elves, if elves there be. 
An empty race, by fount or sea, 
To dashing waters dance and sing. 
Or round the green oak wheel their ring.**--' 
Thus speaking, he his steed bestrode. 
And from the hostel slowly rode. 

XXX. 

Fitz-Eostace followed him ahroad. 
And marked him pace the village lOad} 



170 MAIIMION. LCAJnXJ 

And listened to his horse's tramp. 
Till, by the lessening sound, 

He judged that of the Pictibh camp 
Lord Marmion sought the round. 
Wonder it seemed, in the squire's eyes. 
That one, so war}' held, and wise, — 
Of whom 'twas said, he scarce received 
For gospel, what the church believed,-— 

Should, stirred by idle tale, 
Ride forth in silence of the night. 
As hoping half to meet a sprite, 

Arrayed in plate and mail. 
For little did Fitz-Eustace know, 
That passions, in contending flow, 

Unfix the strongest mind ; 
Wearied from doubt to doubt to flee, 
We welcome fond credulity, 

Guide confident, though blind. 



IJttle for this Fitz-Eustace cared, 
But, patient, waited till he heard. 
At distance pricked to utmost speed, 
The foot-tramp of a flying steed, 
Come town- ward rushing on : 
First, dead, as if on turf it trod, 
Then, clattering on the village road,- 
In other pace than forth he yode,* 
Returned Lord Marmion. 
Down hastily he sprung from selle, 
And, in his haste, well nigh he fell ; 
To the squire's hand the rein he threw 
And spoke no word as he withdrew ; 
But yet the moonlight did betray. 
The falcon crest was soiled with clay; 
And plainly might Fitz-Eustace see, 
By stains upon the charger's knee, 
And his left side, that on the moor 
He had not kept his footing sure. 
Long musing on these wondrous signs, 
At length to rest the squire reclines, 

• t/ted 'oy old Poets for MMl 



171 



CANTO rvr.l MARMION. 

Broken and short ; for still, letween. 
Would dreams of terror intervene : 
Eustace did ne'er so blithely mark 
The first notes of the morning lark. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FOURTH. 
To James Skene, Esq. 

^ihestidt Etiricke Forest. 
An ancient minstrel sagely said, 
" Where is the life which late we led ?" 
That motley clown, in Arden wood, 
WTiom humorous Jaques with envy viewed, 
Not even that clown could amplify, 
On this trite text, so long as I. 
Eleven years we now may tell, 
Since we have known each other well ; 
Since, riding side by side, our hand 
First di'ew the volimtary brand ; 
And sure, through many a varied scene, 
Unkindness never came between. 
Away these winged years have Hown, 
To join the mass of ages gone ; 
And though deep marked, like all below, 
With chequered shades of joy and woe ; 
Though thou o'er realms and seas hast ranged 
Marked cities lost, and empires changed. 
While, here, at home, my narrower ken 
Somewhat of manners saw, and men ; 
Though varying wishes, hopes, and fears, 
Fes-ered the progress of these years. 
Yet now, days, weeks, and months, but seem 
The recollection of a di-eam. 
So still we glide doAvn to the sea 
Of fathomless eternity. 



Eveii now, it scarcely seems a day. 
Since first I tuned mis idle lay ; 
A task so oft«n thiowu aside, 
When leisure gi-aver cares denied. 



172 MARMION. COANTO IV 

That now, November's dreary gale, 

Wljose voice inspired my opening tale, 

That same November gale once more 

"Uhirls the dry leaves on Yan-ow shore; 

Their vex'd boughs streaming to the sky, 

Once more our mied birches sigh ; 

And Blackhouse heights, and Ettricke Pen, 

Have don'd their wintry shrouds again; 

And mountain dark, and Hooded mead. 

Bid us forsake the banks of Tweed, 

Earlier than wont along the sky, 

Mixed with the rack, the snow-mists fly: 

The shepherd, who, in summer sun. 

Has something of our en\7 won, 

As thou with pencil, I with pen. 

The features traced of hill and glen ; 

He who, outstretched, the livelong day. 

At ease among the heath-flowers lay. 

Viewed the light clouds with vacant look. 

Or slumbered o'er his tattered book. 

Or idly busied him to guide 

His angle o'er the lessened tide ; — 

At midnight now, the snowy plain 

Finds sterner labour for the swain. 

"WTien red hath set the beamless sun, 
Tlirough hea\'y vapours dank and dun ; 
When the tired ploughman, dry and wanu, 
Hears, half asleep, the rising storm 
Hurling the hail, and sleeted rain. 
Against the casement's tinkling pane ; 
The sounds that drive wild deer, and foj:, 
To shelter in the brake and rocks. 
Are warnings which the shepherd ask 
To dismal, and to dangerous task. 
Oft he looks foiih, and hof-es, in vain, 
The blast may sink in mellowing rain; 
Till, dark above, and white below, 
Decided di'ives the flaky snow, 
And forth the hardy swain must go. 
Long, with dejected look and whine. 
To leave the hearth his dogs repine: 
Whistling, and cheering them to aid, 
Around hxa back he wreathoa the ]piaid: 



CANTO IV.J AIARMION. 1/3 

His flock he gathers, and he guides 

To open downs, and mountain sides. 

Where, fieriest though the tempest blow, 

Least deeply lies the drift below. 

The blast, that whistles o'er the fells, 

Stiffens his locks to icicles ; 

Oft he looks back, while, streaming far. 

His cottage window seems a star, 

Loses its feeble gleam, and then 

Turns patient to the blast again, 

And, facing to ttie tempest's sweep, 

Drives through the gloom his lagging sheep; 

If fails his heart, if his limbs fail. 

Benumbing death is in the gale ; 

His paths, his landmarks, all unknown. 

Close to the hut, no more his own. 

Close to the aid he sought in vain. 

The morn may find the stiff en'd swain: 

His widow sees, at dawoiing pale. 

His orphans raise their feeble wail; 

And, close beside him, in the snow, 

Poor Yarrow, partner of their woe, 

Couches upon his master's breast. 

And licks his cheek, to break his rest. 

Who envies now the shepherd's lot. 
His healthy fare, his rural cot. 
His summer couch by greenwood tree, 
His rustic kirn's* loud revelry, 
His native hill notes, tuned on high. 
To Marion of the blithesome eye ; 
His crook, his scrip, his oaten reed. 
And all Arcadia's golden creed ? 

Changes not so with us, ray Skene, 
Of human life the varying scene ? 
Our youthful summer oft we see 
Dance by on wings of game and glee, 
While the dark stonn reserves its rage, 
Against the winter of our age : 
As he, the aufrieut chief of Troy, 
His manhood spent in peace and joy ; 

• Tbi; Scuttiah Uarvvst-bMiMk 



174 MARMION. ' ^ .vSTO IV 

But (Grecian fires, and loud alarms, 

Called ancient Priam forth to arms. 

Then happy those, — since each must diTsin 

His share of pleasure, share of pain, — 

Then happy those, beloved of heaven. 

To whom the mingled cup is given ; 

Wliose lenient sorrows fmd relief, 

Whose joys are chastened by their gi'ief. 

And such a lot, my Skene, was thine. 

When thou of late wert doomed to twine, — • 

Just when thy bridal hour was by, — 

The cj^ress with the myrtle tie ; 

Just on thy bride her Sire had smiled, 

And blessed the union of his child, 

W^hen love must change its joyous cheer, 

And wipe affection's filial tear. 

Nor did the actions, next his end, 

Speak more the father than the friend : 

Scarce had lamented Forbes paid 

The tribute to his Minstrel's shade ;* 

The tale of friendship scarce was told, 

Ere the narrator's heart was cold. 

Far may we search before we find 
A heart so manly and so kind. 

But not around his lionour'd urn, 
Shall friends alone and kindred moum ; 
The thousand eyes his care had diied, 
Pour at his name a bitter tide ; 
And frequent falls the grateful dew, 
For benefits the world ne'er knew. 
If mortal charity dare claim 
The Almighty's attributed name, 
Inscribe above his mouldering clay, 
" The widow's shield, the orjjhan's stay." 
Nor, though it wake thy sorrow, deem 
My verse intrudes on this sad theme ; 
For sacred was the pen that wrote, 
" Thy father's friend forget thou not :** 

• Sir William Forbes of Pitsligo, Baronet; unequa.Ied, psrhapt, 
in the Ue^ree of maividual atiectioii emenaiiied for nrm by hit 
friends, as well as in the general respect and esteem of Scotland at 
large. His " Life of Beaiiie," whom he befriended an patronised 
in life, as well as celebrated after his decease, was n *l long pub- 
lished, before the benevolent and atleciiouale Jio^^rapher was called 
to follow the subject of his narrative 



C-VNTO 1V.3 MARMION. 

And grateful title may I plead, 
For many a kindly word and deed, 
To bring my tribute to his grave : — 
'Tis little — but 'tis all I have. 

To thee, perchance, this rambling strain 
Recalls our summer walks again ; 
When doing nought, — and, to speak true. 
Not anxious to tiud aught to do, — 
The wild unbounded hills we ranged, 
While oft our talk its topic changed, 
And desultory', as our way. 
Ranged unconiined from grave to gay. 
Even when it flagged, as oft will chance. 
No effort made to break its trance, 
We could right pleasantly pursue 
Oar sports in social silence too. 
Thou gravely labouring to pourtray 
The blighted oak's fantastic spray ; 
I spelling o'er, with much delight. 
The legend of that antique knight, 
Tirante by naiTie, ycleped the White. 
At either's feet a trasty squire, 
Pandour and Camp, with eyes of fire, 
Jealous, each other's motions viewed. 
And scarce suppressed their ancient feud. 
The laverock whistled from the cloud ; 
The stream was- lively, but not loud ; 
From he white-thorn the May-flower shed 
Its dewy fragrance round our head ; 
Not Ariel lived more merrily 
Under the blossom'd bough, than we. 

And blithesome nights, too, have been ours. 
When Winter stript the summer's bowers ; 
Careless we heard, what now I hear. 
The wild blast sighing deep and drear. 
When fires were bright, and lamps beamed gay, 
And ladies tuned the lovely lay ; 
And he was held a laggard soul, 
Who shunn'd to quad' the sparkling bowl. 
Then he, whose absence we deplore, 
^Vho breathes the gales of Devon's shore. 
The longer missed, bewailed the more ; 



175 



176 MAllillON. iCANTO IT 

And thou, and I, and dear-lovsd R- -, 

And one whose name I may not say, — 

For not Mimosa's tender tree 

Shrinks sooner from the touch than he, — 

In merry chorus well combined, 

\^'^th laughter drowned the whistling wind. 

Mirth was withm; and Care without 

M Ight gnaw her nails to hear our shout 

Not but amid the buxom scene 

Some grave discourse might intervene — 

Of the good horse that bore him best. 

His shoulder, hoof, and arching crest : 

For, like mad Tom's,* our chiefest care, 

Was horse to ride, and weapon wear. 

Such nights we've had ; and, though tho game 

Of manhood be more sober tame. 

And though the field-day, or the drill. 

Seem less important now — ^yet still 

Such may Ave hope to share again. 

The sprightly thought inspires my strain ; 

And mark, how like a horseman true, 

Lord Marraion's march I thus renew. 

CANTO FOURTH. 

Cfie Camp. 



Eustace, I said, did blithely mark 
The first notes of the merr}' lark. 
The lark sung shrill, the cock he cre"W, 
And loudly Marmion's bugles blew, 
And, with their light and lively call, 
Brought groom and yeoman to the stall. 

Whiitling they came, and free of heart; 
Buc soon their mood was changed : 

Complaint was heard on every part. 
Of something disarixnged. 
Some clamoured loud for armour lost; 
Some brawled imd wrangled with the host; 
" By Becket's bones," cried one, " I fear. 
That some false Scot has stolen my spear P— 

See ifing Lear 



CANTO IV.] MAKMION. 1 77 

Young Blount, Lord Marmion's second squire, 

Found his steed -vvet with sweat and mire ; 

Although the rated horse-boy sware, 

Last night he dressed him sleek and fair. 

While chafed the impatient squire like thunder, 

Old Hubert shouts, in fear and wonder, — 

'" Help, gentle Blount ! help, comrades all ! 

Bevis Ue6 dying in his stall : 

To Marmion who the plight dare tell, 

Of the good steed he loves so welt?" — 

GapiLg for fear and ruth, they saw 

The charger panting on his straw ; 

Till one, who would seem wisest, cried, — > 

"AVhat else but evil could betide. 

With that cursed Palmer for our guide ? 

Better we had through mire and bush 

Been lanthorn-led by Friar Rush."* 



Fitz-Eustace, wto the cause but guessed, 

Nor wholly understood. 
His comrades' clamorous p^sints suppressed ; 

He knew Lord Marmion's mood. 
Him, ere he issued forth, he sought. 
And found deep plunged in gloomy thought, 

And did his tale display 
Simply, as if he knew of nought 

To cause such disarray. 
Lord Marmion gave attention cold, 
Nor marvelled at the wonders told, — 
Passed them as accidents of course. 
And bade his clarions sound to horse. 

III. 
Young Henry Blount, meanwhile, the cost 
Had reckoned with thsir Scottish host; 
And, as the charge he cast and paitl, 
" 111 thou deserv'st thy hire," he said ; 

* This personage was a sort of Robin GoodfeUow, and Jaci 
of Lanihorn. It is in allusion to this mischievou'* detsoa thai 
JMUtou's clu^vn sjn-aks, — 

Slie was pinched, and pulled, she 9iud, 
Aud he by fi-iar'i kinlUoni led. 

h2 



178 MAKMION, tCASlTO IW 

*' Dost see, thou knave, my horse's plight ? 

Fairies have ridden him all the night, 
And left him in a foam ! 
I trust, that soon a conjuring hand, 
With English cross and blazing brand. 
Shall drive the devila from tliis land. 

To their infernal home : 
For in this haunted den, I troTv, 
All night they trampled to and fro."- 

The laughing host looked on the hire, 

"Grramercy, gentle southern squire. 
And if thou com'st among the rest, 
With Scottish broad-sword to be blest, 
Sharp be the brand, and sure the blow, 
And short the pang to undergo." — 
H^re stayed their talk, — for Marmion 
Gave now the signal to set on. 
The Palmer showing forth the way, 
They journeyed all the morning day. 

IT. 

The green-sward way was smooth and good. 

Through Humbie's and through Saltoun's wood ; 

A forest glade, which, varj'ing still, 

Here gave a view of dale and hill ; 

There narrower closed, till over head 

A vaulted screen the branches made. 

" A pleasant path," Fitz-Eustace said ; 

" Such as where errant knights might see 

Adventures of high chivalry ; 

Might meet some damsel flying fast, 

With hair unbound, and looks aghast; 

And smooth and level course were here, 

In her defence to break a spear. 

Here, too, are twilight nooks and dells ; 

And oft, in such, the stoiy tells. 

The damsel kind, from danger freed. 

Did grateful pay her champion's meed." — 

He spoke to cheer Lord Marmiou's mind; 

Perchance to show his lore designed 
For Eustace much had pored 

Upon a huge romantic tome, 

In the hali-\\indow of his home. 



OAKTO IV.] MAKMION. 

Imprinted at the antique dome 

Of Caxton or De VVorde. 
Therefore he spoke, — but spoke in vain. 
For Marmiou answered nought again. 



Now sudden distant trumpets shrill, 
In notes prolonged by wood and hill, 

Were heard to echo far; 
Each ready archer grasped his how, 
But by the flourish soou they know. 

They breathed no point of war. 
Yet cautious, as in foeman's land, 
Lord Marmion's order speeds the band, 

Some opener ground to gain ; 
And scarce a furlong had they rode. 
When thinner trees, receding, showed 

A little woodland plain. 
Just in that advantageous glade. 
The halting troop a line had made, 
As forth from the opposing shade 

Issued a gallant train. 

VI. 

First came the trumpets, at whose clang 
So late the forest echoes rang; 
On prancing steeds they forward pressed,' 
"With scarlet mantle, azure vest ; 
Each at his tioimp a banner wore. 
Which Scotland's royal scutcheon bore 
Heralds and pursuivants, by name 
Bute, Islay, Marchmomit, Rothsay, came, 
In painted tabards, proudly showing 
Gules, Argent, Or, and Azure glowing. 
Attendant on a King-at-arms, 
Whose hand the armorial truncheon held. 
That feudal strife had often quelled. 
When wildest its alarms. 

VII. 
H"* was a man of middle age ; 
In aspect manly, grave, and sage. 



179 



180 MARMIO.^. 

As oil king's errand come ; 
But in the glances of his eye, 
A penetrating, keen, and sly 

Expression found its home; 
The ilash of that satiric rage, 
Which, bursting on the early stage, 
Branded the vices of the age, 

And broke the keys of Rome. 
Oii milk-white palfrey forth he paced; 
His cap of maintenance was graced 

With the proud heron-plume. 
From his steed's shoulder, loin, and breast 

Silk housings swept the gi'ound, 
With Scotland's arms, device, and crest, 

Embroidered round and round. 
The double tressure might you see, 

First by Achaius borne. 
The thistle, and the iieur-de-lis, 

And gallant unicorn. 
So bright the king's armorial coat, 
That scarce the dazzled eye could note. 
In living colours, blazoned brave, 
The Lion, which his title gave. 
A train, which well beseemed his state, 
But all unarmed, around him wait. 

Still is thy name in high account, 
And still thy verse has charms, 

Sir David Lindesay of the Mount, 
Lord Lion King-at-arms !* 

viir. 

Down from his horse did Marmion spring, 
Soon as he saw the Lion-King; 
For well the stalely Baron knew, 
To him such comtesy was due. 



* «*ir 'Dp'iiS Iii»»desay was w«;U knowa for his early feiforts bt 
favour iif thr refoiiiied'a.iclriiicB. It was i)ften mt ..riftce uiipobed 
ru the Liim Kiii^< at .iruK to receive tmeigii aiiiba!.»;.il •5. The 
office of lieraJds, ui feudal limes, being lielii ol the uluio>i impiirt- 
ariie, the inuiijfuralioii ot the Kiiiffs at Hrais, who j re"..!- d ove» 
•.heir cnUeges, «-as pri>|i.irtioually coleuin- lu fact, It mis the 
BUiniirv ofa royiil ooroiiatiuu, ejLCept thai :Ae uncltorx m'AU aUMlfl 
wiUi wine instead o( cuL 



Whom royal .Tames himself had crowned. 
And on his temples placed the round 

Of Scotland's ancient diadem ; 
And wet his brow with hallowed wine, 
And on his finger given to shine 
The emblematic gem. 
Their mutual greetings duly made, 
The Lion thus his message said : — 
" Though Scotland's King hath deeply swore. 
Ne'er to knit faith with Henry more, 
And strictly hath forbid resort 
From England to his royal court ; 
Yet, for he know^Lord Marmion's name. 
And honours much his warlike fame, 
My liege hath deemed it shame, and lack 
Of courtesy, to turn him back ; 
And, by his order, I, your guide, 
Must lodging fit and fair provide. 
Till finds King James meet time to see 
The flower of English chivalry." — 

TX. 

Tliough inly chafed at this delay, 
Lord Marmion bears it as he may. 
The Palmer, his mysterious guide. 
Beholding thus his place supplied, 

Sought to take leave in vain : 
Strict was the Lion- King's command, 
That none, who rode in Marmion's band. 

Should sever from the train : 
" England has here enow of spies 
In Lady He^^n'& witching eyes ;" 
To Marchmouut thus, apart, he said. 
But fair pretext to Marmion made. 
The right-hand path they now decline, 
And trace against the stream the Tyne. 



At length up that -mid dale they wind. 

Where Crichtoun-Castle crowns the bank ;* 

» A large ruinous castle on the banks of the Tyne, about w 
miles from Kdinburga. 



182 MiVRMION. [CATTTO IV 

For there the Lion's care assigned 
A lodging meet for Marmion's rank 
That Castle rises on the steep 

Of the green vale of Tyne ; 
And far beneath, where slow they creep 
From pool to eddy, dark and deep, 
Where alders moist, and willows weep, 

You hear her streams repine. 
The towers in dift'erent ages rose ; 
Their various architecture shows 

The builders' various hands ; 
A mighty mass, that could oppose, 
When deadliest hatred fired its foes. 

The vengeful Douglas bands. 

XI. 

Crichtoun ! though now thy miry court 

But pens the lazy steer aud sheep. 

Thy tun-ets rude, and tottered Keep, 
Have been the minstrel's loved resort. 
Oft have I traced within thy fort,^ 

Of mouldering shields the mystic seiu», 

Scutcheons of honour, or pretence. 
Quartered in old armorial sort, 

Remains of rude magnificence : 
Nor wholly yet hath time defaced 

Thy lordly gallery fair; 
Nor yet the stony cord unbraced. 
Whose twisted knots, with roses laced. 

Adorn thy ruined stair. 
Still rises unimpaired, luelow, 
Tlie court-yard's graceful portico ; ^ 

Above its connce, rovr and row 
Of fair hewn facets richly show 
Their pointed diamond form. 
Though there but houseless cattle go 

Toshield them from the storm. 
And, shuddering, still may we explore, 

Where oft whilome were captives pent, 
Tlie darkness of thy Massy More : 

Or, from thy grass-grown battlement, 
May trace, in undulating line, 
The eluggish mazes of the Tyne. 




t_ ^^Aj^ >1-^ 



:^=%^ 




Or liom ihy (5i-ass-groMin_ ialtlenLeiat, 

May txare, in Lirixhalatixio line, 

11 le sliid.ii.sl.i xacuios of Clae iTiie, 



183 



CANTO IV.] 



Another aspect Criclitoun showed. 

As through its portal Marmion rof'.e ; 

But yet 'twas melancholy state 

Received him at the outer gate ; 

For none were in the castle then. 

But women, boys, or aged men. 

With eyes scarca^dried, the sorrowing dame. 

To welcome noble Marmion, came ; 

Her son, a stripling twelve years old, 

Proffered the Baron's rein to hold ; 

For each man, that could diaw a sword, 

Had marched that morning with their lord. 

Earl Adam Hepburn,* — he who died 

Oa Flodden, by his sovereign's side. 

Lcng may his Lady look in vain ! 

She ne'er shall see his gallant train 

Ccrae sweeping back through Crichtoun-D«an. 

'Twas a brave race, before Uie name 

Of hated Bothwell stained their fame. 



And here two days did Marmion rest, 
With every rite that honour claims, 

Attended as the king's own guest, — 
Such the command of royal James ; 
Who marshalled then his land's array, 
Upon the Borough moor that lay. 
Perchance he would not foeman's eye 
Upon his gathering host should pry. 
Till full prepared was every band 
To march against the English land. 
Here while they dwelt, did Lindesay's wit 
Oft cheer the Baron's moodier tit; 
And, in his turn, he knew to prize 
Lord Marraion's powerful mind, and wise, — 
Trained in the lore of Rome, and Greece, • 
And policies of war and peace. 

» He was the second Earl of Bothwell, and fell in the field c* 
Flodden, where, he distinguished himsalf by a furious attempt to 
fetricv* the dity. 



l&t MARMION, CCANTO !▼. 

XIV. 
It chanced, as fell the second night, 

That on the battlements they walked. 
And, by the slowly fading light, 

Of varying topics talked ; 
And, unaware, the Herald- bard 
Said Marmion might his toil have spared, 

In travelling so far ; 
For that a messenger from heaven 
In vain to James had counsel give.i 

Against the English war:* 
And, closer questioned, thus he told 
A tale, which chronicles of old 
In Scottish story have enrolled : 
XV. 
SIR DAVID LINDESAY'S TALE. 

Of all the palaces so fair, 

Built for the royal dwelling, 

In Scotland, far beyond compare 
Linlithgow is excelling ; 
And in its park, in jovial June, 
How sweet the meriy linnet's tune, 

How blithe the l)lackbird's lay ! 
The Avild buck bellsf from ferny brake. 
The coot dives meriyon the lake. 
The saddest heart might pleasure take 

To see all nature gay. 
But June is to our Sovereign dear 
The heaviest month in all the year : J 

* This story is told by Pitscottip with characteristic simplicity. 
Bnchtmaii, in more elegant, though not more impressive language, 
tells the same st4>ry, and -inotes the person-il information of our 
Sir Paviil Lindesay. The kind's throne, in St Catharine's aisle, 
which he had construotfd for hiiniseU, ivitli twelve stalls for the 
Knights Comparuiuis of tne Order of the Thistle, is stil: fiiovtil 
as the place whore the apparition was seen. 

+ Bell seems to be an abbreviation of bellow. A gentle knieht 
In the reign of Henry VIIl., Sir Tliomas Wortley. built VV'antley 
liodge, in Wanclitfe Roresl, for the pleasure (as an ancient iusciip- 
tion'testilies) of "listening to the hart's bell." 

J The rebellion against James III. was signalized by the crad 
circumstance of his son's presence in the hostile array. M'hen tho 
king saw his own banner displayed against him, and his son in tho 
faction of his enemies, he lost the little courage he ever possessed, 
fled nut of the field, fell from his horKe as it started at a vyomoa 
Uid water-pitcher, and was slain, it is not well ujiderstood l»y 
'Vhom. 



CANTO IV.l MARMIOX. 185 

Too well his cause of grief you fejio-w,-- 
Juue saw his father's overthrow. 
Woe to the traitors, who coulJ bring 
The princely boy against his King ! 
Still in his conscience burns the sting. 
In offices as strict as Lent, 
King James's June is ever spent. 

XTI. 

" When last this ruthful month was come. 
And in Linlithgow's holy dome 

The King, as wont, was praying ; 
While for his royal father's soul 
The chaunter's sung, the bells did toll, 

The Bishop mass was saying — 
For now the year brought round again 
Tlie day the luckless king was slain — 

In Katharine's aisle the monarch knelt, 

AVith sackcloth-shirt, and iron belt, 
And eves with sorrow streaming; 

Around him, in their stalls of state. 

The Thistle's Knight- Companions sate, 
Their banners o'er them beaming. 

I too was there, and, sooth to tell, 

Bedeafetied with the jauglingrtinell. 

Was watching where the sunbeams fell, 
Through the stained casement gleaming: 
ut, while I marked what next befell. 
It seemed as I were dreaming. 
Stepped from the crowd a ghostly wight, 
In azure gown, with cincture white ; 
His forehead bald, his head was bare, 
Down hung at length his yellow hair. — 
Now, mock me not, when, good my Lord, 
I pledge to you my knightly word, 
That, when I saw his placid grace. 
His simple majesty of face. 
His solemn bearing, and his pace 

So stately gliding on, — 
Seemed to me ne'er did limner paint 
So just an image of the Saiiit, 
Who pr()i)ped the Virgin in her £ainti-" 

The loved Apostle John- 



186 MARMION. [CAjn?0 IT. 



" He stepped before the Monarch's chair, 
And stood with rustic plainness there. 

And little reverence made ; 
Nor head, nor body, bowed nor bent, 
But on the desk his aiTD he leant. 

And words like these he said, 
In a low voice, — but never tone 
So thrilled through vein, and nerve, and bone; 
' My mother sent me from afar, 
Sir King, to warn thee not to war,— 

Woe waits on thine array ; 
If war thou wilt, of woman fair, 
Her witching wiles and wanton snare, 
James Stuart, doubly warned, beware : 

God keep thee as he may T — 
The wondering Monarch seemed to seek 

For answer, and found none ; 
And when he raised his head to speak, 

The monitor was gone. 
The Marshal and myself had cast 
To stop him as he outward past ; 
But, lighter than the whirlwind's blast, 

He vanished fron^our eyes, 
Like sunbeam on the billow cast. 
That glances but, and dies." — 

XVIIT. 

While Lindesay told this marvel strange, 

The twilight was so pale. 
He marked not Marmion's colour change, 

While listening to the tale : 
But, after a suspended pause. 
The Baron spoke : — " Of Nature's laws 

So strong I hold the force, 
That never super-human cause 

Could e'er controul their course ; 
And, three days since, had judged your aim 
Was hut to make your guest your game. 
But I have seen, since past the Tweed, 
'WTbat much has changed my sceptic creed, 



CANTO I v.] MAllMION. 

And made me credit aught." — He staid. 
And seemed to wish his words unsaid ; 
But, by that strong emotion pressed, 
Which prompts us to unload our breast, 

Even when discovery's jiain. 
To Lindesay did at length unfold 
The tale his village host had told. 
At Cxifford, to his train. 
Nought of the Palmer says he there, 
And nought of Constance, or of Clare : 
The thoughts, which broke his sleep, he seenna 
To mention but as feverish dreams. 

ZIX. 

" In vain," said he, " to rest I spread 
Aly burning limbs, and couched my head : 

Fantastic thoughts returned; 
A.nd, by their wild dominion led, 

My heart within me burned. 
So sore was the delirious goad, 
I took my steed, and forth I rode. 
And, as the moon shone bright and cold. 
Soon reached the camp upon the wold. 
The southern entrance I passed through. 
And halted, and my bugle blew.^ 
Methought an answer met my ear, — • 
Yet was the blast so low and drear, 
So hollow, and so faintly blo^vn. 
It might be echo of my own. 



Thus judging, for a little space 
I listened, ere I left the place ; 

But scarce could trust ray eyes, 
Nor yet can think they served me true, 
When sudden in the ring I view, 
In form distinct of shape and hue, 

A mounted champion rise. — 
I've fought, Lord-Lion, many a day 
In single fight, and mixed aliray. 
And ever, I myself may say. 

Have borne me as a knight ; 



187 



188 MARMION. COAKTOXVt 

But when this unexpected foe 

Seemed starting from the gulph below, — 

I care not though the truth I show, — 

I trembled with affright ; 
And as I placed in rest my spear, 
My hand so shook for veiy fear, 

I scarce could couch it right. 



" Why need my tongue the issue tell ? 
We ran our course, — my charger fell : — 
What could he 'gainst the shock of hell ? — 

I rolled upon the plain. 
High o'er my head, with threatening hand, 
The spectre shook his naked brand, — 

Yet did the worst remain ; 
My dazzled eyes I upward cast, — 
Not opening hell itself could blast 

Their sight, like what I saw ! 
Full on his face the moonbeam strook, — 
A face cou.d ne\ er be mist jok ! 
1 knew the -tern /ind.^tivfc ,ook. 

And held my breath for awe. 
I saw the face of one who, fled 
To foreign climes, has long been dead. — 

I well believe the last ; 
For ne'er, from visor raised, did stare 
A human warrior, with a glare 

So grimly and so ghast. 
Thrice o'er my head he shook the blade ; 
But when to good Saint George I prayed, 
(The first time e'er I asked his aid,) 

He plunged it in the sheath ; 
And, on his courser mounting light, 
He seemed to vanish from my sight : 
The moon-beam drooped, and deepest night 

Sunk down upon the heatn. — 
'Twere long to tell what cause I have 

To know his face, that met me there, 
Called by his hatred from the gr:»ve. 

To cumber upper air : 
Dead or alive, good cause had h© 
To be my mortal enemy." — 



Id9 



XXI r. 
Marvelled Sir David of the Mount ; 
Then, learned in story, 'gan recount 

Such chance had hap a of old, 
When once, near Norham, there did fight 
A. spectre fell, of tiendish might, 
In likeness of a Scottish knight, 

With Brian Bulmer bold. 
And trained him nigh to disallow 
The aid of his baptismal vow, 

" And such a phantom, too, 'tis said. 
With Highland broad-sword, targe, and plaid, 
And fingers red with gore. 
Is seen in Rothiemurcus glade. 
Or where the sable pine-tr^es shade 
Dark Tomantoul, and Achnaslaid, 

Dromouchty, or Glenmore. 
And yet, whate'er such legends say, 
Of warlike demon, ghost, or fay. 
On mountain, moor, or plain. 
Spotless in faith, in bosom boldi. 
True son of chivalry should hold 
These midnight teiTors vain ; 
For seldom Lave such spirits power 
To harm, save in the eWl hour, 
WTien guilt we meditate within, 
Or harbour unrepented sin." — 
Lord Marmion turned him half aside, 
And twice to clear his voice he tried. 
Then pressed Sir David's hand, — 
But nought, at length, in answer said ; 
And here their farther converse staid, 

Each ordering that his band 
Should bovNTie them with the rising day, 
To Scotland's camp to take their way, — 
Such waa the King's command. 



Elarly they took Dun-Edin's road. 
And I conld trace each step they trode ; 
Hill, brook, nor dell, nor roc)?, aor stoso 
Lies on the nath to me unknown. 



190 MARMION. [CANTO W. 

Much mielit it boast of storied lore ; 
But, passing such digression o'er, 
Suffice it, that their route was laid 
Across the furzy hills of Braid. 
They passed the glen and scanty rill, 
And climbed the opposing bank, until 
They gained the top of Blackford Hill. 

XXIV. 
Blackford ! on -whose uncultured breast. 

Among the broom, and thorn, and wh.'n, 
A ti-uant-boy, I sought the nest, 
Or listed, as I lay at rest, 

While rose, on breezes thin. 
The murmur of the city crowd. 
And, from his steeple jangling loud, 

Saint Giles's mingling din. 
Now, from the svimmit to the plain. 
Waves all the hill with yellow grain ; 

And o'er the landscape as I look, 
Nought do 1 see unchanged remain. 

Save the rude clitfs and chiming brook. 
To me they make a heaN^ moan, 
Of early friendships past and gone. 



But different far the change has been. 

Since Marmion, from the crown 
Of Blackford, saw that martial scene 

Upon the bent so brown : 
Thousand pavilions, white as snow. 
Spread all the Borough-moor below,* 

Upland, and dale, and down : — 
A thousand d'd I say? I ween, 
Thousands on thousands there was seen, 
That chequered all the heath between 

The streamlet and the town ; 
In crossing ranks extending £ir, 
Forming a camp inegular ; 

• The Borough, or Common Moor of Edinburgh wnM of »Biy 

freat extent, reaching from the southern walls otthe city to th» 
ottom of Braid Hills. 



CANTO IVO MARMION. 

Oft giving way, where still there stood 

Some reliques of the old oak wood. 

That darkly huge did intervene, 

And tamed the glaring white with gi-een ; 

In these extended lines there lay 

A martial kingdom's vast array. 

SXVI. 
For from Hebudes, dark with rain. 
To eastern Lodon's fertile plain, 
And from the southern Redswire edge, 
To farthest Rosse's rocky ledge ; 
From west to east, from south to north, 
Scotland sent all her warriors forth. 
Marmion might hear the mingled hum 
Of myriads up the mountain come ; 
The horses' tramp, and tingling clank. 
Where chiefs re\'1ewed their vassal rank, 

And charger's shrilling neigh ; 
And see the shifting lines advance. 
While frequent Hashed, from shield and lonoe^ 

The sun's reflected ray. 

XXVII. 

Thin curling in the morning air. 

The wreaths of failing smoke declare, 

To embers now the brands decayed, 

Where the night-watch their fires had made. 

They saw, slow rolling on the plain. 

Full many a baggage-cart and wain. 

And dire artillery's clumsy car, 

By sluggish oxen tugged to war; 

And there were Boi-thwick's Sisters Seven,* 

And culverins which France had given. 

Ill-omened gift ! the giins remain 

The conqueror's spoil on Flodden plain. 

XXVIII. 

Nor jnarked they less, where in the air 
A thousand streamers flaunted fair ; 
Various in shape, device, and hue, 
Ghreen, sanguine, purple, red, and blue, 

• Seven ciilverins so exiled, cast by one Borthwick. 



191 



192 MARMION, [c. 

Broad, narroAv, swallow-tailed, and square, 

Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol,* there 
O'er the pavilions flew. 

Highest, and midmost, was descried 

The royal banner, floating wide ; 

The staff, a pine-tree strong and straight. 
Pitched deeply in a massive stone, 
Which still in memory is shown, 
Yet bent beneath the standard's weight, 
Whene'er the western wind unrolled. 

With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold. 
And gave to view the dazzling Held, 
Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield, 

The ruddy Lion ramped in gold.*}" 



Lord Marmion viewed the landscape bright, — 
He viewed it with a chiefs delight, — 
Until within him burned his heaii. 
And lightning from his eye did part, 

As on the battle-day ; 
Such glance did falcon never dart, 

Wlien stooping on his prey. 
" Oh ! well, Lord- Lion, hast thou said, 
Thy King from warfare to dissuade 

Were but a vain essay ; 
For, by Saint George, were that host mine. 
Not power infernal, nor divine. 
Should once to peace my soul incline, 
Till I had dimmed their annour's shiue 

In glorious battle fray !" — 
Answered the bard, of milder mood : 
" Fair is the sight, — and yet 'twere good. 

That kings would think withal. 
When peace and wealth their land have blessed, 
'Tis better to sit still at rest, 

Than rise, perchance to fall." — 



« "5<li»cn .•* tnesf r»>nda~i "wisipns intimated <:l>e diffitrent rank o» 
th><se eutitled to display theiu. 

t The well-knowu arms of Scotland. According to Bopth lu 
and Buchrtiian, the double tresaure round the phiql^ was first oi- 
Bumed by Achaiaa, Kiug of Scotland, oaatetapotuty of tiharle- 
ma^ne. 



OAirro nr.] marmion. 199 

XXX. 

Still on the spot Lord Marraiou stayed. 
For fairer scene he ne'er surveyed. 

M'hen sated with the martial show 

That jieopied all the plain beiow. 

The wandering eye could o'er it go. 

And marii the distant city glow 
With gloomy splendour red ; 

For on the smoke-wreaths, huge and slow, 

That round her sable turrets how, 
The morning beams were shed. 

And tinged them with a lustre proud. 

Like that which streaks a thunder-cloud. 
Sucn dusky grandeur clothed the height, 
Where the huge castle holds its state 

Aud all tlie steep slope down, 
Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky, 
Piled deep and massy, close and high. 

Mine own romantic town ! 
But northward far, with purer Llaze, 
On Ochil mountains fell the rays. 
And as eacla heathy top they kiissed, 
jleamed a purple amethyst, 
'^onder the shores of Fife you saw; 

Here Preston- Bay, and Berwick-Iiaw ; 
Aud, broad between them roli»d. 

The gallant Firth the eye might UQfe, 

Whose islands on its bosom float. 
Like emeralds chased in gold. 
Fitz- Kustace' heart felt closely pent ; 
As if to give his rapture vent, 
The spur he to his charger lent, 

And raised his bridle-hand. 
And, making demi- volte iu air. 
Cried, " Where's the coward that would not daiC 

To fight for such a land ! 
The Liudesay smiled his joy to see; 
Nor Marmion's frown repressed his glee. 

XXXI. 
Thus while they looked, a flourish proud. 
Where mingled trump, and clarion loud. 



Itgl, 
Yc 



194 MARMION. 

And fife, and kettle-dnun. 
And sackbut deep, and psaltery 
And war-pipe with discordant cry. 
And cymbal clattering to the sky. 
Making wild music bold and high, 

Did up the mountain come ; 
The whilst the bells, with distant chima, 
Merrily tolled the hour of prime, 

And thus the Lindesay spoke : — 
" Thus clamour still the war-notes when 
The King to mass his way has ta'en, 
Or to St Catherine's ot Sienne, 

Or chapel of Saint Rocque. 
To you they speak of martial fame j 
But me remind of peaceful game, 

When blither was their cheer, 
Thrilling in Falkland- woods the air, 
In signal none his steed should spare. 
But strive which foremost might repair 

To the downfall of the deer, 

XXXII. 

" Nor less," he said, — " when looking forth. 
I view yon Empress of the North 

Sit on her hilly throne ; 
Her palace's imperial bowers, 
Her castle, proof to hostile powers, 
Her stately halls, and holy towers — 

Nor less," he said, " I moan. 
To think what woe mischance may bring. 
And how these merry bells may ring 
The death-dirge of our gallant King ; 

Or, with their larum, call 
The burghers forth to watch and ward, 
'Gainst southern sack and fires to guard 

Dun-Edin's leaguered wall. — 
But not, for my presaging thought, 
Dream conquest sure, or cheaply bought ! 

Lord Marmion, I say nay : — 
God is the guider of the field, 
He breaks the champion's spear and shield,- 

But thou thyself shalt say, 



[canto IV, 



CANTO VO JIIABMION. 

When Joins yon host in deadly stowre. 
That England's dames must weep in bower. 

Her monks the death-mass sing ; 
For never saw'st ihdu such a power 

Led on by such a King." — 
And now, down winding to the plain, 
llie barriers of the camp they gain, 

And there they made a stay. — 
Ihei'e stays the Minstrel, till he fling 
His hand o'er every Border string, 
And 6t his harp the pomp to sing, 
Of Scotland's ancient Court and King, 

In the succeeding lay. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIFTH 
To George Ellis, Esq. 

Edinburg . 

When dark December glooms the day, 

And takes our autumn joys away ; 

AN'hen short and scant the sunbeam throw*. 

Upon the weary waste of snows, 

A oold and profitless regard. 

Like patron on a needy bard ; 

When sylvan occupation's done, 

And o'er the chimney rests the gun. 

And hang in idle trophy, near. 

The game-pouch, fishing-rod, and speax ; 

When wiry terrier, rough and grim. 

And greyhound with his length of limb, 

And pointer, now employed no more, 

Cumber our parlour's narrow floor ; 

When in his stall the impatient steed 

Is long condemned to rest and feed ; 

When from our snow-encircled home, 

Scarce cares the hardiest step to roam. 

Since path is none, save that to bring 

The needful water from the spring ; 

When wrinkled news-page, thrice con'd o'ef» 

Beguiles the dreaiY hour no more. 



195 



196 MABMION. ,, CANTO V. 

And darklin? politician, crossed, 
Inveighs against the lingering post. 
And answering house-wife sore complainfl 
Of carriers' snow-impeded wains :# 
When such the country cheer, I come. 
Well pleased, to seek our city home ; 
For converse, and for books, to change 
The Forest's melancholy range. 
And welcome, with renewed delight. 
The busy day, and social night. 

Not here need my desponding rhyme 
Lament the ravages of time, 
As erst by Newark's riven towers, 
And Ettricke stripped of forest bowers.* 
True, — Caledonia's Queen is changed,^ 
Since on her dusky summit ranged, 
Within its steepy limits pent, 
By bulwark, line, and battlement, 
And flanking towers, and laky flood, 
Guarded and garrisoned she stood, 
Denying entrance or resort, 
Save at each tall embattled port ; 
Above whose arch, suspended, hung 
Poi-tcullis spiked with iron prong. 
That long is gone, — but not so long. 
Since, early closed, and opening late, 
Jealous revolved the studded gate ; 
Whose task from eve to morning tide 
A wicket churlishly sujiplied. 
Stern then, and steel-giit was thy brow, 
Dun-Edin ! O, how altered now, 
When safe amid thy mountain court 
Thou sitt'st, like Emprest at her sport, 
And liberal, unconfined, and free. 
Flinging thy white arms to the sea. 
For thy dark cloud, with umbered lower. 
That hung o'er cliff, and lake, and tower, . 

* Spp Introdnction to Canto IL 
+ The old Town of Edmburgh waspccnred on the north side \rf 
B lake, now drained, and on the south bv a wall, ■which tl ere was 
«onj- dttfcuipt to make defensihle even ?■■ late as 1746. Tlie ^atea, 
Mtd the greater p&rt of the wall, hiivf Deen pulled down, in the 
eonrsc of the late e^teuiiive and buautifui euUrgemenc of the citf. 



CANTO v.] MARMION. 197 

Thou gleam'st against the western ray 
Teu thousand lines of brighter day. 

Not she, the championess of old, 

In Spenser's magic tale enrolled, — 

She for the charmed spear renowned, 

Which forced each knight to kiss the ground,— 

Not she more changed, when, placed at rest, 

What time she Avas Malbecco's guest,* 

She gave to flow her maiden vest ; 

When from the corslet's grasp relieved, 

Free to the sight her bosom heaved ; 

Sweet was her blue eye's modest smile. 

Erst hidden hy the aventayle; 

And dovra her shoulders graceful rolled 

Her locks profuse, of paly gold. 

They who whilome, in midnight fight. 

Had marvelled at her matchless might. 

No less her maiden charms approved, 

But looking liked, and liking loved.f 

The sights could jealous pangs beguile. 

And charm Malbecco's cares awhile ; 

And he, the wandering Squire of Dames, 

Forgot his Columbella's claims, 

And passion, erst unknown, could gain 

The breast of blunt Sir Satyrane; 

Nor durst Jight Paridel advance, 

Bold as he was, a looser glance, — 

She charmed, at once, and tamed the heart, 

Incomparable Britomarte ! 

So thou, fair City ! disarrayed 
Of battled'wall, and rampart's aid, 
As stately seem'st, but lovelier far 
Than in that panoply of war. 
Nor deem that from thy fenceless throne 
Strength and security are flown ; 
Still, as of yore, Queen of the North ! 
Still canst thou send thy children forth. 



* See "Tbe Fairy Queen," Book ITT. Canto IX. 
t " For every one Uer liked, and erery onp her loved." 

SPKNS2R atabMtk 



198 MARMION. f CANTO V. 

Ne'er readier at alarm-bell's call 
Thy burghers rose to man thy -wall, 
Than now, in danger, shall be thine, 
Thy dauntless \oluntaiy line; 
For fosse and turret proud to stand, 
Their breasts the bulwarks of the land. 
Thy thousands, trained to martial toil, 
Full red would stain their native soil, 
Ere from thy mural crown there fell 
The slightest knosp, or pinnacle. 
And if it come, — as come it may, 
Dun-Edin ! that eventful day, — 
Renownea for hospitable deed, 
That virtue much with heaven may pload, 
In patriarchal times whose care 
Descending angels deigned to share ; 
That claim may wrestle blessings down 
On those who fight for the Good Town, 
Destined in every age to be 
Refuge of injured royalty ; 
Since first, when conquering York arose, 
1 o Hen 17 meek she gave repose,* 
Till late, with wonder, gi'ief, and awe, 
Great Bourbon's reli^ues, sad she saw. 

Truce to these thoughts ! — for, as they rise, 
How gladly I avert mine eyes, 
Bodings, or true or false, to change, 
For Fiction's fair romantic range, 
Or for Tradition's dubious light, 
That hovers 'twixt the day and night : 
Dazzling alternately and dim, 
Her wavering lamp I'd rather trim. 
Knights, squires, and lovely dames to see,* 
Creation of my fantasy. 
Than gaze abroad on reeky fen, 
And make of mists invading men. — 
Who loves not more the night of June 
Than dull December's gloomy noon ? 
The moonlight than the fog of frost? 
And can we say, which cheats the most? 

* Henry VT., witVi his queen, his heir, and the cluefaofbu 
fhmily, fied to Scotland aft<?r the fatai battle uf Towton 



CANTO V-3 aiARMION. 199 

But who stall teach my harp to gain 
A sound of the romantic strain, 
Whose Anglo-Norman tones whilere 
Could win the Second Henry's ear,* 
Famed Beauclerc called, for that he loved 
The minstrel, and his lay approved ? 
Who shall these lingering notes redeem. 
Decaying on Oblivion's stream ; 
Such notes as from the Breton tongue 
Marie translated, Bloudel sung? — 
O ! born Time's ravage to repair. 
And make thy dying Muse thy care; 
Who when his scj-the her hoary foe 
Was poising for the final blow. 
The weapon from his hand could "wring, 
And break his glass, and shear his wing. 
And bid, reviving in his strain, 
The gentle poet live again ; 
Thou, who canst give to lightest lay 
An unpedantic moral gay, 
Nor less the dullest theme bid flit 
On wings of unexpected wit ; 
In letters as in life approved, 
Example honoured, and beloved, — 
Dear Ellis ! to the bard impart 
A lesson of thy magic art. 
To win at once the head and heart, — 
At once to charm, instruct, and mend. 
My guide, my pattern, and my friend ! 

Such minstrel lesson to bestow 
Be long thy pleasing task, — but, O ! 
No more by thy example teach 
What few can practise, all can preach; 
With even patience to endure 
Lingering disease, and painful cure, 
And boast affliction's pangs subdued 
By mild and manly fortitude. 
Enough, the lesson has been given : 
Forbid the repetition, Heaven ! 



» The courts of our Anglo-Norman kings, rather than thoee 
tlie VreDch muoarobs, produced the birth ol romance literatur«k 



200 M ARM ION. rCANTO T 

Come, listen, then ! for thou hast kno-wn. 
And loved, the Minbtrei's varying tone; 
Who, like his Border sires of ohl, 
Waked a wild measure, rude and bold, 
Till Windsor's oaks, and Ascot plain. 
With wonder heard the northern strain. 
Come, listen ! — bold in thy applause, 
The Bard shall scorn pedantic laws; 
And, as the ancient art could stain 
Achievements on the storied pane. 
Irregularly traced and planned. 
But yet*So glowing and so grand ; 
So shall he strive, in changeful hue, 
Field, feast, and combat, to renew, 
And loves, and amis, and harpers' glee, 
And all the pomp of chivalry. 

CANTO FIFTH. 

Cfte Court 

1. 

The train has left the hills of Braid; 
The barrier guard have open made, 
(So Lindesay bade,) the palisade, 

That closed the tented ground. 
Their men the warders backward drew. 
And carried pikes as they rode through, 

Into its ample bound. 
Fast ran the Scottish warriors there. 
Upon the Southern band to stare ; 
And en\'y with their wonder rose, 
To see such well-appointed foes ; 
Such length of shafts, such mighty bows. 
So huge, that many simple thought, 
But for a vaunt such weapons wrought ; 
And little deemed their force to feel. 
Through links of mail, and plates of steel, 
When, rattling upon Flodde'n vale. 
The cloth-yard arrows flew like hail.* 

* This is no poetical exaggeration. In sf<me o* the couuHm of 
Enifland. (lisiinpuishefr for aVcheiy, sliafts of this uxiraordmary 
l<rug(h were actually useU. 



CANTO v.] 



MARMIOX. 201 



n. 

Nor less did Mannioa's skilful view 
Glance every line and squadron through ; 
And raurh he marvelled one small land 
Could marshal forth such various band : 

For men-at-arms were hero. 
Heavily sheathed in mail and plate, 
Like iron towers for strength and weight, 
On Flemish steeds of bone and height, 

With battle-axe and spear. 
Young knights and squires, a lighter traitu 
Practised their chargers on the plain. 
I3y aid of leg. of hand, and rein, 

Each warlike feat to show ; 
To pass, to wheel, the croupe to gain. 
And high curvett, that not in vain 
The sword-sway might descend amain 

On foeman's casque below 
He saw the hardy burgners thiere 
March armed, on foot, with faces bare,* 

For visor they wore none, 
Nor waving plume, nor crest of knight ; 
But burnished were their corslets brighfc, 
Their brigantines, and gorgets light, 

Like very silver shone. 
Long pikes they had for standing fight, 

"JVo-handed swords they wore. 
And many wielded mace of weight, 

And bucklers bright they bore. 

III. 

On foot the yeoman too, but dressed 
In his steel jack, a swarthy vest. 

With iron quilted well ; 
Each at his back, (a slender store,) 
His forty days' provision bore, 

As feudal statutes tell. 
His '.rms w*jr«i "".aibard. axa. or sneai, 
A cros!*-bo'-iy there, a tiagbut mere, 

» The Scottish hurffesses were appointed to be armed with barws 
Bi>d sheaves, sword, buckler, kiiile. 8^1ear, era good axe iIl^itead ef 
a bow, if worth i:l(Xi: their annour to be of white or bright har- 
ness. They wore white hats, i,e. bright steel cap»i witlioat cr«3t 
ov visor 

i2 



202 MAIlMIO^. rcAMXO V 

A dagger-kuife, and brand. — * 
Sober he seemed, and sad of cheer, 
As loth to leave his cottage dear, 

And march to foreign strand ; 
Or musing who "would guide his steer, 

To till the fallow land. 
Yet deem not in his thoughtful eye 
Did aught of dastard tejTor lie ; — 

More dreadful far his ire. 
Than theirs, who, scorning danger's namOi 
in eager mood to battle came, 
Their valour like light straw on flame, 

A fierce but fading fire. 



Not so the Borderer : — bred to war, 
He knew the battle's din afar, 

And jo)-ed to hear it swell. 
His peaceful day was slothful ease ; 
Nor harp, nor pipe, his ear could please. 

Like the loud slogan yell. 
On active steed, with lance and blade. 
The light-armed pricker plied his trada,^ 

Let nobles tight for fame ; 
Let vassals follow where they lead, 
Burghers, to guard their townships. l;ieed, 

But war's the Borderers' game.. 
Their gain, their glory, their delight, 
To sleep the day, maraud the night, 

O'er mountain, moss, and moor ; 
Joyful to fight they took their way. 
Scarce caring who might win the day, 

Their booty was secure. 
These, as Lord Maimion's train pa^£ed by, 
Looked on at first with careless eye, 
Nor marvelled aught, well taught to know 
The form and force of English bow. 

* Bows and quivers were iii vain recommended to the peasartry 
of ficotlaiid, by repeated statutes; spears a.iid axes seem univei^ 
Bally to have been used instead uf thetn. Thi ir defensivt annoov 
was ilie plate-jack, hauberk, or britantine; jukI ihi ir niishile wua- 
poiis cross-bows and culverius All wore swords of excellent 
temper, aud a voluminnus handkerchief round cheir neck, not tb» 
cold, but for cutting. The mace also was much used in the Scot 
Uiiharmy. Whenthe feudal array of the kingdom was called fortlk. 
each man was obliged to appear with forty days' provisiMi 



CANTO V.J MARMION. 

But when they saw the Lord arrayed 
In splendid arms, and rich brocade, 
Each Borderer to his kinsman said, — 

" Hist, Ringan ! seest thou there ! 
Canst guess which road they'll homeward rids? 
O ! could we but on Border side. 
By Eusedale glen, or LiddelFs tide, 

Beset a prize so fair ! 
That fangless Lion, too, their guide, 
Might chance to lose his gllL^tering hide; 
Brown Maudlin, of that doublet pied, 

Could make a kiitle rare." 



Next Marmion marked the Celtic race, 
Of different language, form, and face, 

A various race of man ; 
Just then the chiefs their tribes arrayed, 
And wild and garish semblance made, 
The chequered trews, and belted plaid. 
And varjnng notes the war-pipes brayed 

To every varying clan ; 
Wild through their red or sable hair 
Looked out their eyes, with savage stare, 

On Marmion as he past ; 
Their legs above the knee were bare ; 
Their frame was sinewy, short, and spare, 

And hardened to the blast ; 
Of taller race, the chiefs they own 
Were by the eagle's plumage known. 
The hunted red-deer's undressed hide 
Their hairy buskins well supplied ; 
The graceful bonnet decked their head; 
Back from their shoulders hung the phu4 
A broad-sword of imwieldy length, 
A dagger proved for edge and strength, 

A studded targe they wore, 
And quivers, bows, and shafts, — but, O ! 
Short was the shaft, and weak the bow^ 

To that which England bore. 
The Isles-men carried at their backs 
The ancient Danish hattle-a.xe. 



20» 



204 MAUMION. [CiVNTO 1 

They raided a wild and wondering cry, 

As with his guide rodo i'.Iannion by. 

Loud were their clamouring tongues, aa when 

The clanging sea-fowl leave the fen. 

And, with their cries discordant mixed, 

Grumbled and yelled the pipes betwixt. 



Thus through the Scottish camp they passed, 
And reached the City gate at last. 
Where all around, a wakeful guard. 
Armed burghers kept their watch and ward. 
Well had they cause of jealous fear. 
When lay encamped, in lield so near, 
The Borderer and the Mountaineer. 
As through the bustling streets they go. 
All was alive with martial show ; 
At every turn, with dinning clang, 
The armourer's anvil clashed and rang; 
Or toiled the swarthy smith, to wheel 
The bar tliat arms the charger's heel ; 
Or axe, or falchion, to the side 
Of jarring grind-stone was applied. 
Page, groom, and squire, Avith hurrj'ing pace. 
Through street, and lane, and market-plsice, 

Bore lance, or casque, or sword ; 
While burghers, with important face, 

Described tach new-come lord, 
Discussed his lineage, told his name. 
His following,* and his warlike fame. — 
The Lion led to lodging meet. 
Which high o'erlooked the crowded street 

There must the Baron rest. 
Till past the hour of vesper tide. 
And then to Holy- Rood must ride, — 

Such was the king's behest. 
Meanwhile the Lion's care assigns 
A banquet rich, and costly wine3,+ 

To Marmioa and his train. 



« Fonotvinff—Fendai Retainers. 

+ lu all ttansactiotis nf great or petty importanco, a present of 
vme was an uiuform aad ludispeusable pieUiniuarv. 



OANTO V.J . JURMION. 

And ■when the appointed hour succeeds, 
The Baron dous his peaceful weeds, 
And following Linde^iay as he leads. 
The palace-halls they gain. 
VII. 
Old Holy- Rood rung merrily, 
That nigiit, with wassel, mirth, and gleo ; 
King James within her princely bower 
Feasted the chiefs of Scotland's power. 
Summoned to spend the parting hour ; 
For he had charged, that his array 
Should southward march by breaa of (ia^c 
Well loved that splendid monarch aye 

The banquet and the song, 
By day the tourney, and by night 
The merry dance, "traced fast and light. 
The masquers quaint, the pageant bright^ 

The revel loud and long. 
This feast outshone his banquets past ; 
It was his blithest, — and his last. 
The dazzling lamps, from gallery gay, 
Cast on the court a dancing ray: 
Here to the harp did minstrels sing; 
There ladies touched a softer string ; 
With long-eared cap, and motley veet, 
The licensed fool retailed his jest ; 
His magic tricks the juggler plied; 
At dice and draughts the gallants vied^ 
While some, in close recess apart, 
Courted the ladies of their hearty 

Nor courted them in vain ; 
For often, in the parting hour. 
Victorious love asserts his power 

O'er coldness and disdain ; 

And Hinty is her heart, can view 

To battle march a lover tnae. — 

Can hear, perchance, his last adieu. 

Nor own her shaie oi pam. 

viir. 

Through this mixed crowd of glee and game. 
The King to greet Lord Marmion came, 
While, reverend, all made room. 



206 



206 



['■ 



An easy task it was, I trow, 
King James's manly form to know, 
AJ though, his courtesy to show. 
He doSed, to Marrnion bendmg low. 

His broidered cap and plume. 
For royal were his garb and mien. 

His cloak, of crimson velvet piied. 

Trimmed with the fur of martin wild; 
His vest, of changeful satin sheen. 

The dazzled eye begiailed ; 
His gorgeous collar hung adown. 
Wrought with the' badge of Scotland's crO^IV 
The thistle brave, of old renown ; 
H is trusty blade, Toledo right, 
De;^cended from a baldric bright ; 
White were his buskins, on the heel 
His spurs inlaid of gold and steel; 
His bonnet, all of crimson fair, 
Was buttoned with a ruby rare : 
And Marrnion deemed he ne'er had seen 
A prince of such a noble mien. 



The monarch's form was middle size ; 
For feat of strength, or exercise. 

Shaped in proportion fair ; 
And hazel was his eagle eye. 
And auburn of the darkest dye, 

His short curled beard and hair. 
Light was his footstep in the dance, 

And firai his stirrup in the lists; 
And, oh ! he had that merry glance, 

That seldom lady's heart resists. 
Lightly from fair to fair he flew, 
And loved to plead, lament, and suo; 
Suit lightly won, and shoit-lived pain{ 
For raonarchs seldom sigh in vain. 

1 said he joyed in banquet-bower; 
But, mid his mirth, 'twas often stiunge^ 
How suddenly his cheer would changei 

His look o'ercast and lower, 
If, in a sudden turn, he felt 
The pressure of his iron belt. 



CANTO V.3 JIARMTON. 207 

That bound bis breast in penance-pain. 
In memory of his father alaia,* 
Even so twas strange how, evermore, 
Soon as the passm? pang vras o'er, 
forward be rushed, with double glee, 
Into the stream of reveliy : 
Thus, dim-seen object of affright 
Stad.les the courser in his flight, 
Ar>(^ h?.!f I>c halts, half springs aside: 
but feels the quickening spur applied, 
iVnd, straining on the tightened rein. 
Scours doubly swift o'er hill ajid plain. 



O'er James's heart, the courtiers say. 
Sir Hugh the Heron's v-^ife lield ffway :•(- 

To Scotland's court she came, 
To be a hostage for her lord. 
Who Cessford's gallant heart had gored. 
Ami with the King to make accord. 

Had sent his lovely dame. 
Nor to that lady free alone 
Did t'ne gay King allegiance 0'.th ; 

For the fair Queen of France 
Sent him a Turquois ring, and glove. 
And charged him, as her knight and lovo, 

For her to break a lance ;t 
And strike three strokes with Scottish brand. 
And march three miles on southern land. 
And bid the banners of his band 

In English breezes dance. 
And thus, for France's Queen, he dresfc 
His manly limbs in mailed vest ; 

» To the ■weiprht of this belt James added certrjtt onnces «v«ry 
year that he Uvea The porsKm and character or James are Helia- 
eate.l accordiuar to our best hUtoriaiis. He was wont, during liia 
fits of devotion, to assume the dress, and conform to the rules, oi 
the order of Francisciuts ; and when he liad thus done pena-ice for 
Bome time in Stirling, to pKmge again into the tide of pleasure. 

t Our histori.ins impute to the king's infatuated passion the 
delays which led to the fatal defeat of K lodden. 

; The Queen of France wrote a love-letter to the King of Scot- 
land, calling him her lore, and beseeching him to raise her an 
army, and come three feet of ground on English grotnid, for her 
Bake. To tHat ell«jct sne sent mm a rmg on" hor £aifKr, with four- 
teen thousand French crowns to pay his ezpooses. 



203 MARMION. CCANTO % 

And tlius .admitted English fair, 
His inmost connseis stili to shai-e; 
And thus, lor both, he raadiy planned 
The niin of himself and land ! 

And yet, the sooth to tell, 
Nor England's fair, nor France's Queen, 
Were worth one pearl-drop, brisrht and sheen, 

From Margaret's eyes that fell, — 
Hi? o^vn Queen Margaret, who, in Lithgow's boWCT, 
All lonely sat, and wept the weary hour. 



The Qneen sits lone in Lithgow pile, 

And weeps the weaiy day, 
The war against her native soil. 
Her Monarch's risk in battle broil :— 
And in gay Holy- Hood, the while, 
\ Dame Heron ri?es with a smile 

\ Upon the harp to play. 

. Fair was her rounded ami, as o'er 
" The strings her fingers Hew ; 

, And as she touched and tuned them all« 
Even her bosom's rise and fall 
AVas plainer given to view; 
For, all for heat, was laid aside 
Her wimple, and her hood untied. 
And first she pitched her voice to sing. 
Then glanced her dark eye on the King, 
And then around the silent ring; 
knd laughed, and blushed, and oft did aay 
f^er pretty oath, by Yea, and Nay, 
She could not, would not, durst not play I 



At length, upon the harp, with glee. 
Mingled witli arch simplicity, 
A soft, yet lively, aii- she nin^, 
While thus the wily lady sung. 

XII. 

LOCH INVAR. 

Lady Hbbon'b Sono. 

O. young Lochinvar is come out of the west, 

Through all the wide Border his steed was the bestt 



CANTO v.] MAUMION. 20 

And save bis good broad-sword he weapons had none ' 
He rode all unanned, and he rode ail alone. 
So faitlifal in love, and so dauntless in war, 
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. 
He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, 
He swam the E.<ke river where ford there was none; 
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, 
The bride had consented, the gallant came late: 
jb'or a laggard in love, and a dastard in war. 
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hail, 

Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, 

and all : 
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, 
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) 
" O come ye in ])eace here, or come ye in war, 
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?'' — 
" I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ; — 
Love swells like the Sol way, but ebbs like its tide-— 
And now I am come, with this lost love of mine, 
To lead but one nii^sure, drink one cup of wine. 
Theie are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, 
'i'bat would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." 

The bride kissed the goblet ; the knight took it uo, 
He quaffed otf the wine, and he threw down the cup. 
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, 
\N'ith a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. 
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, — 
"Now tread we a measure !"' said young Lochinvar. 
So stately his form, and so 'ovely her face, 
That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, 
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and 

plume ; 
x\nd the bride-maidens whispered, " 'Twere better by 

far 
To have matched our fair cousin svith young Loci.in- 

var." 
One touch to her lioiid. and one word in her ear, 
When they reached the aali do<.«r and the charger 

stood near ; 



210 MARMION. CCANTO V 

So light to the croupe the fair lady he swnng, 

So light to the saddle before her he sprung 1 

" She is won ! -we are gone, over bank, bush, and 

scaur ; 
They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young 

Lochinvar. 

There was mounting 'mong Grsemes of the Netherby 

clan ; 
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and 

they ran : 
There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, 
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. 
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, 
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young LochinTarP 

XIII. 
The Monarch o'er the syren hung, 
And beat the measure as she sung ; 
And, pressing closer, and more near, 
He whispered praises in her ear. 
In loud applause the courtiers vied ; 
And ladies winked, and spoke asjde. 

The witching dame to Marmion threw 
A glance, Avhere seemed to reign 

The pride that claims applauses due, 

And of her royal conquest, too, 
A real or feigned disdain : 

Familiar was the look, and told, 

Marmion and she were friends of old. 
The King observed their meeting eyes, 
With something like displeased surprise; 
For monarchs ill can rivals brook. 
Even in a word, or smile, or look. 
Straight took he forth the parchment broad. 
Which Mannion's high commission showed ; 
" Our Borders sacked by many a raid, ' 

Our peaceful liege-men robbed," he said ; 
" On day of truce our Warden slain. 
Stout Barton kille'd, his vessels ta'en — 
Unworthy were we here to reiffn. 
Should these for vengeance cry m vain; 
Our full defiance, hate, and scorn. 
Our herald lias to Henry bonus.'* — 



CANTO v.] 



211 



He paused, and led -where Dougks stood, 
And with stem eye the pageaut viewed : 
I meaa that Douglas, sixth of yore, 
Who coronet of Angus bore. 
And, Avhen his blood and heart were high, 
Did Ihe third James in camp defy, 
And all his minions led to die 

On Lauder's dreary Hat : 
Princes and favourites long grew tame. 
And trembled at the homely name 

Of Archibald Bell-the-Cat.* 
The same who left the dusky vale 
Of Ilei-mitage in Liddisdale, 

Its dungeons, and its towers, 
Wliere Bothwell's turrets brave the air, 
And Bothwell bank is blooming fair, 

To fix his princely bowers. 
Though now, in age, he had laid down 
His aiTTiour for the peaceful gown, 

And for a staff bis brand, 
Y"et often would flash forth the fire. 
That could, in youth, a monarch's ire 

And minion's pride withstand ; 
And even that day, at council board. 

Unapt to soothe his sovereign's mood, 

Against the war had Angus stood, 
And chafed his royal Lord.f 

» Ari'hibald Douglas, Earl of Ansnis, a man remarVaWe for 
•trc'tif^th iif body and mind, acquired liie popular name r,f XtoS. 
tiw- Cil. upon the foUo-\\-in^ remarkable occasion. When the 
Koortish ni'bility had assembled to deliberate on putting the ob- 
noxiiMis favourites of J.uiies III. to death. Lord Grey told thann 
the fable <>f the mice, who resolved that one of their number should 
put a bell round the nerk of the cat to warn them of its couuiig; 
but no one was so hardy as to attempt it. '"I understand the 
mornl" said Angus : " I \v\\\ bell-the-cat." He bearded the kin" to 
purpose by hani^ing the favourites over the bridge of Lauder, 
Cochran their chief being elevated higher than the rest. 

t Aligns was an old man when the war against Kngland was r^ 
solved upon. He earnestly spoke against that measure from its 
commencement; and, on the eve "f the battle of Flo.iden, r©- 
moustraied so freely upon the impolicy of lighting, that the king 
said to him, with scorn and indignation, " if he was afraid, he 
mi^ht go home." The earl burst into tears at this insupportable 
insult, and retired accordingly, leavins his sons, George, master 
of Ansiis, and Sir William, rif Glenbervie, to command hi» fol- 
lowers. Tht-y were both slain in the battle, with two hundred 
geuclemen of the uama of Douglas. 



212 



ICr^K-CO V 



His giant-form, like rained tower. 
Though fallen its muscles' brawny vaunt, 
Huge-buneJ, and tall, and grim, and gaunt. 

Seemed o'er the gaudy scene to lower : 
His locks and beard in silver grew; 
His eye-brows kept their sable hue. 
Near Douglas when the Monarch stood, 
His bitter speech he thus pursued : — 
" Lord Marmion, since these letters say 
That in the North you needs must stay, 

Wliile slightest hopes of peace remain, 
Uncourteous -speech it were, and stern. 
To say — Keturu to Lindisfaru, 

Until my herald come again. — 
Then rest you in Tantallon Mold ;* 
Your host shall be the Douglas bold, — 
A chief unlike his sires of old. 
He wears their motto on his blade.")* 
Their blazon o'er his towers disjilayed; 
Yet loves his sovereign to oppose, 
More than to face his country s foes. 
And, I bethink me, by Saint Stejiheii, 

But e'en this morn to me was given 
A prize, the first-fruits of the war, 
Ta en by a galley from Dunbar, 

A be\-y of the maids of heaven. 
Under your guard, these holy maids 
Shall safe return to cloister shades. 
And, Avhile they at Tantallon stay. 
Requiem for Cochran's soul m;iy say." — 
And, with the slaughtered favourite's name 
Across the Monarch's brow there came 
A cloud of ire, remorse, and shame. 



* The niiiio of Tantallon Castle occupy a high rocV projecting 
into I he German Ocean, iibont tw(i miles e ist «) North llerwicli. 
The In luing U u«t seen tiU a close appionch^ as there U miug 
pround becvvixt it anJ the laml. The circuit is-of large extent, 
feu eti iipon ihree sides by tlie prei-ipice \vhii'h nverhnngs tlie sea, 
and on tl>e fourth by a double ditch and verv strong otilM'orks. 

t A very anciciu sword, in possession of Lord Douglas, I ears, 
among a ^reai deal of fl')ui ishiu-;, iwo hands rointii.g to a heart, 
vhich IS pi ced betwixt thi-'n, aud the date JSiS, being the year 
in » hich Ui uco charged the Uoud Lurd Uou^las to carry his heart 
to the Holy Laud. 



O^VNTO V.T MARMION. 213 

XVI. 

la answer nought could Angus spealc : 

His proud heart swelled well nigh to break : 

He turned aside, and down his cheek 

A burning tear there stole. 
His hand the monarch sudden took. 
That sight his kind heart could not brotk : 

" Now, by the Bruce's soul, 
Ans:us, my hasty speech forgive ! 
For &ure as doth his spirit live, 
As he said of the Douglas old, 

I well may say of you, — 
That never king did subject hold, 
In speech more free, in war more bold. 

More tender, and more true :* 
Forgive me, Douglas, once again. — 
And, while the King his hand did strain, 
The old man's tears fell down like rain. 
To seize the moment Marraion tried. 
And whispered to the King aside ; — 
" Oh ! let such tears unwonted plead 
FoT respite short from dubious deed ! 
A child will weep at bramble's smart, 
A maid to see her spaiTow part, 
A stripling for a woman's heart : 
But woe awaits a country, when 
She sees the tears of bearded men. 



When Douglad wets his manly 



d high, 
eye T"— 



Displeased was James, that stranger viewed 

And tampered with his changing mood. 

" Laugh those that can, weep those that may," 

Thus did the fiery Monarch say, 

" Southward I march by break of day; 

And if within Tantallon strong. 

The good Lord Marmion tarries long, * 

Perchance our meeting next may faU 

At Tamworlh, in his castle-hall.*" — 

• O Dowolasl Dow^laal 
Teutliroud trevv. 

The Boutatt, 



214 MARMION. 



f CANTO V 



The haughty Marmion felt the taunt, 

And answered, grave, the royal vaunt : 

" Much honoured were my humble boma, 

If in its halls King James should come; 

But Nottingham lias archers good, 

And Yorkshire men are stern of mood ; 

Northumbrian prickers wild and rude. 

On Derby Hills the paths are steep ; 

In Quse and Tj'ne the fords are deep ; 

And many a banuer -will be torn, 

Aiid many a knight to earth be borne. 

And many a sheaf of aiTows spent. 

Ere Scotland's King shall cross the Treut : 

Yet pause, brave prince, while yet you may.** — 

The Monarch lightly turned away, 

And to his nobles loud did call, — 

" Lords, to the dance, — a hall ! a liall I"* 

Himself his cloak and sword flung by, 

And led Dame Heron gallantly ; 

And minstrels, at the royal order. 

Rung out — " Blue Bonnets o'er the Border." 

XVITI. 
Leave we these revels now, to tell 
What to Saint Hilda's maids befell, 
Wliose galley, as they sailed again 
To Whitby, by a Scot was ta'en. 
Now at Dun-Edin did they bide. 
Till James should of their fate decide; 

And soon, by his command, 
Were gently summoned to prepare 
To jouiTiey under Marmion's care, 
As escort honoured, safe, and fair, 

Again to English land. 
The Abbess told her chaplet o'er. 
Nor knew which Saint she snouid implore ; 
For when she thought of Constance, sore 

She feared Lord Marmion's mcjod. 
And judge what Clara must have felt 1 
The swor 1, that hung in Marmion's belt, 

Had d unk De Wilton's blood. 

* Tlu ancient err to mako room for a dsaoc, or 



CANTO V.J KARMIO.N, 

Unvrittingly, King James had given. 

As guard to '^Nliitby's hIwuIcs, 
ITie man most di»'A>le(l midcr heaven 

By these defenceie:<s maids ; 
Yet what petition could a^ail. 
Or wlio would listen to the tale 
Of woman, prisoner and nun, 
Mid bustle of a war begun ? 
They deemed it hopeless to avoid 
The convoy of their dangerous guide. 



21d 



Their lodging, so the King assigned. 
To Marmion's, as their guardian, joined; 
And thus it fell, that, passing nigh, 
The Palmer caught the Abbess' eye, 

Who warned Tiim by a scroll. 
She had a secret to reveal. 
That much concerned the Chufch's weol. 

And health of sinners' soul ; 
Aad, with deep charge of secrecy, 

She named a place to meet, 
Withii. an open balcony. 
That hung from dizzy pitch, and high, 

Above the stately street; 
To which, as common to each home, 
At night they might in secret come. 



At night in secret there they came, 
The Palmer and the holy dam 3. 
The moon among the clouds rode high, 
And all the city hum was by. 

Upon the street, where late before 
Did din of war and warriors roar. 

You might have heard a pebble falL 
A beetle hum, a cricket sing. 
An owlet flap his boding wing 
On Giles's steeple tall. 
The antique buildings, climbing high, 
Whose Gothic frontlets sought the sky, 
Were here wrapt deep in shade; 



216 MAUMIO-V. [CA^^TO ▼. 

There on their brows the mocu-l^am broke. 
Through the faint wreaths of silvery ^moke. 

And on the casemeuts played. 
And other light was none to see, 

Save torches gliding far, 
Before some chieftain of degree, 
Who left the royal revelry 

To bowne him for the war. — 
A solemn scene the Abbess chose ; 
A solemn hour, her secret to diseloso. 

XXI. 

" O, holy Palmer I" she began, — 
" For sure he must be sainted man. 
Whose blessed feet have trod the ground 
Where the Redeemer's tomb is found ; — 
For his dear Church's sake, my tale 
Attend, nor deem of light avail. 
Though I must speak of worldly love, — 
How vain to those wko wed above ! — 
De Wilton and Lord Marmion wooed 
Clara de Clare, of Gloster's blood ; 
(Idle it were of Whitby's dame. 
To say of that same blood I came ;) 
And once, when jealous rage was high. 
Lord Marmion said despiteously, 
Wilton was traitor in his heart, 
And had mads league with Martin Swart,* 
When he came here on Simnel's part* 
And only cowardice did restrain 
His rehe! aid on Stokefield's plain, — 
And down he threw his glove : — the thing 
Was tried, as wont, before the King ; 
Where frankly did De Wilton own. 
That Swart in Guelders he had known; 
And that between them then there went 
§ome scrc»ll of courteous compliment. 
For this he to his castle sent; 
But when his messenger returned. 
Judge how De Wilton's inry Dumedt 

• X German general, who commanded the auxiliaries sent by 
tbe Duch-iss of Burgundy with Lambert SiraueL He WM d» 
feated aiid kiUuJ at gtukufi^ia. 



CANTO v.] MARMION. 217 

For in his packet there were laid 

Letters that claimeJ disloyal aitl, 

Aad proved King Henry's cause betrayed. 

His fame, thus blighted, in the tieid 

He strove to clear, by speai* and shield;— 

To clear his fame in vain he strove. 

For wondrous are His ways above ! 

Perchance some form was unobserved ; 

Perchance in prayer, or faith, he swerved ;* 

Else how could guiltless champion quail. 

Or how the blessed ordeal fail ? 

XXII. 
" His squire, who now De Wilton saw 
As recreant doomed to sud"er law. 

Repentant, owned in vain. 
That, while he had the scrolls in caro, 
A stranger maiden, passing fair, 
Had drenched him with a beverage tare;— 

His words no faith could gain. 
With Clare alone he credence won, 
V/ho, rather than wed Mannion, 
Did to Saint Hilda's shrine repair, 
To give our house her livings fair, 
And die a vestal vot'ress there. 
Tlie impulse from the earth was given, 
But bent her to the paths of heaven. 
A purer heart, a lovelier maid. 
Ne'er sheltered her in Whitby's shade, 
No, not since Saxon EdelHed; 

Only one trace of earthly strain. 
That for her lover's loss 

She cherishes a sorrow vain. 
And murmurs at the cross. — 
And then her heritage ; — it goes 

Along the banks of Tame ; 
Deep fields of grain the reajier mows, 
In meadows rich the heifer lows, 
'1 lie falconer, and huntsman, knows 

Its woodlands for the game. 

• Tt was earlv npressary for thnsp who felt t>i<>inac1VM obliwl 
to belifve in tlie liiviiie jiidsriiiem bfinv! eiminMat»-.l in the ti i»l by 
ivbti, to hiiil khIvos for tilt; stranj^e and ubvioualy precafiuua' 
.V 1 ^j jjjjj combat. 

K 



218 MARMION. fCANTO V 

Shame were it to Saint Hilda deaa', 
Aiid I, her humble vot'resa here. 

Should do a deadly sin, 
Her temple spoiled before mine eyes, 
If this false Marmion such a prize 

By my consent should win : 
Yet hath our boisterous Monarch sworn. 
That Clare shall from our house be torn 
And grievous cause have I to fear. 
Such mandate doth Lord Marmion bear 



•* Now, prisoner, helpless, and betrayed 
To evil power, I claim thine aid. 

By every step that thou hast trod 
To holy shrine, and grotto dim ; 
By every martyr's tortured limb ; 
By angel, saint, and seraphim. 

And by the Church of God ! 
For mark : — When Wilton was betrayed. 
And ^vith his squire forged letters laid. 
She was, alas ! that sinful maid. 

By whom the deed was done, — 
O ! shame and horror to be said ! — 



I She was a perjured nun : 

No clerk in all the land, like her. 
Traced quaint and varying character. 
Perchance you may a marvel deem, 

That Marmion's paramour, 
(For such vile thing she was,) should 

Her lover's nuptial hour ; 
But o'er him thus she hoped to gain. 
As privy to his honour's stain, 

Illimitable power : 
For this she secretly retained 

Each proof that mi^ht the plot reveal. 

Instructions with his hand and seal ; 
And thus Saint Hilda deigned. 

Through sinner's perfidy impure, 

Her house's glory to secure. 
And Clai'e's inamortal wuaL 



CiVNTO V.J MARM10^. "19 

JCXIV. 

•* 'T-ner© long, and needless, here to t^ 
How to n3y hand these pripers fell ; 

Wth me they nnust not stay. 
Saint Hilda keep her Abbess tnie ! 
Who knows what outrage he might do, 

While journeying by the way ? — 

' blessed Saint, if e'er again 

1 venturous leave thy calm domain, 
To travel or by laud or main. 

Deep penance may I pay ! — 
Now, saintly Palmer, mark my prayer: 
I give this packet to thy care. 
For thee to stop they will not dare; 

And, O ! with cautious speed, 
To Wolsey's hand the papers brinjf^ 
That he may show them to the Kmg; 

And for thy well-enmed meed. 
Thou holy man, at 'V\Tjitby's shrine, 
A weekly mass shall still be thine. 

While priests can sing and read. — 
What ail'st thou ? — Speak !" — For as he took 
The charge, a strong emotion shook 

His frame ; and, ere reply, 
They heard a faint,^'et shrilly tone, 
Like distant clarion feebly blown, 

That on the breeze did die ; 
And loud the Abbess shrieked in fear, 
" Saint Withold save us ! — WTiafc is here ! 

Look at yon City Cross ! 
See on its battled tower appear 
Phantoms, that scutcheons seem to rear, 

Aid blazoned banners toss !" — 

XXV. 

Dun-Edin's Cross,* a piliar'd stone, 
Rose on a turret octagoa ; 

* The cross of Edinburgh Tvas an ancient and curious structtir 
Die lower part w;i* an 0(?tagonal tower, sixteen feet in dlameter- 
anil a out fifteen ffet high. At each tingle there was ajiillar, and 
between them an arrh, of the Grecian shav>e. Above these was a 

f projecting bittlenier t, with a turret- at each corner, and medal- 
ioni, ot rude but curious workmanship, between them. Abo"'e 
this rose the proper Cross, a column of one st«ne, upwards ot 
twenty feel high, surmounted with an unicorn. From the tower 
(tf the Cross, the heralds publiabed the act ^ of PtirUamont. 



220 MARMION. CCAMTO T 

(But now is razed that monument, 
AVhence royal edict rang, 

And voice of Scotland's law was sent. 
In glorious trumpet clang. 
O ! be his tomb as lead to lead. 
Upon its dull destroyer's lie^d !- 
A minstrel's malison* is said. — "i 
Then on its battlements they savf 
A vision, passing Nature's law. 

Strange, wild, and dimly seen ; 
Figures, that seemed to rise and die, 
Gibber and sign, advance and fly, 
WTiile nought confirmed could ear ot 

Discern of sound or mien. 
Yet darkly did it seem, as there 
Heralds and Pursuivants pi'epare,^ ^ 
With trumpet sound, and blazon fair, 

A summons to proclaim ; 
But indistinct the pageant proud, 
As fancv formes of midnight cloud. 
When llings the moon upon her shrood 

A wavering tinge of ilame ; 
It Hits, expands, and shifts, till loud, 
From midmost of the spectre crowd. 

This awful summons came :+ — 



" Prince, prelate, potentate, and peer, 

Whose names I now shall call, 
Scottish, or foreigner, give ear ! 
Subjects of him who sent me here, 
At his tribunal to appear, 

I summon one and all : 
I cite you by each deadly sin. 
That e'er hath soiled your hearts 'vsithin; 
I cite you by each brutal lust. 
That e'er deftled your earthly doat, — 

By wTJtth, by pride, by fear, 

* «. *. CursB, 
♦ Thl« snpematnraJ eit-'tioii is mentioned! ly »Q oar PcoJtistl 
histoiiaus It was probably, tike the appiiritioii at Liiilithe'>tv, aQ 
attempt, by those averse to the »var, t<i iinpoie ia.on the superiiti 
tiouo veinp'er of .laraea IV. 



CANTO v.] MARMION. 

By each o'er-masteriiig passion's tone, 
By the dark grave, and dying groan I 
When forty days are past and gone, 
I cite you, at your Monarch's throne, 

To answer and appear." — • 
Then thundered forth a roll of names : — 
The first was thine, unhappy James ! 

Then all thy nobles came ; 
Crawford, Glencairn, Montrose, Argyle, 
Ross, Bothwell, Forbes, Lennox, Lyle,— 
Why should I tell their separate style ? 

Each chief of birth and fame, 
()f Lowland, Highland, Border, Isle, 
Fore-doomed to Flodden's carnage pile, 

^\'a3 cited there by name ; 
And Marmion, Lord of Fontenaye, 
Of I^utterward, and Scri%'elbay, 
De Wilton, erst of Aberley, 
The self-same thundering voice did say.— 

But then another spoke : 
"Thy fatal summons I deny, 
And thine infei-nal lord def 



221 



Appealing me to Him on lUfli, 

vVho burst the sinner's yoke." — 
At that dread accent, with a scream. 
Parted the pageant like a di'eam, 

The summoner was gone. 
Prone on her face the Abbess fell. 
And fast, and fast, her beads did tell; 
Her nuns came, startled by the yell. 

And found her there alone. 
She marked not, at the scene aghast, 
WTiat time, or how, the Palmer passed. 

XXVII. 

Shift -we the scene. — The camp doth movft 

Uun-Edin's streets are empty now, 
Save when, for weal of those they love. 
To pray the prayer, and vow the vow, 
The tottering child, the anxious fair, 
The grey-haired sire, with pious care, 
To chapels and to shrines repair. — 
Where is the Ptdmer now ? and where 



2>2 



MARMION. 



CCANTO IT. 



llie Abbess, Mamiion, and Clare ? — 
Bold Douglas ! to Tautalloa fair 

They journey in thy charge: 
Lord Marmion rode on his right hand, 
The Palmer still was with the band ; 
Angus, like Lindesay, did comraaud. 

That none should roam at large. 
But in that Palmer's altered mien 
A wondrous change might now be seen; 

Freely he spoke of war, 
Of marvels wrought by single hand, 
When lifted for a native laud ; 
And still looked high, as if he planned 

Some desperate deed afar. 
His courser would he feed, and stroke. 
And, tucking up his sable frocke. 
Would tirst his mettle bold provoke, 

Then soothe, or quell his pride. 
Old Hubert said, that never one 
He saw, except Lord Marmion, 

A steed so fairly ride. 

x:|^iii. 

Some half-hour's march behind, there caine 
By Eustace governed fair, 

A troop escorting Hilda's Dame, 
With all her nuns, and Clare. 

No audience had Lord Marmion sought ; 
Ever he feared to aggravate 
Clara de Clare's suspicious hate; 

And safer 'twas, he thought. 

To wait till, from the nuns removed. 
The influence of kinsmen loved. 
And suit by Henry's self approved, 

Her slow consent had -wrought. 

His was no Hickering flame, that dies 
Unless when fanned by looks and sigha, 
And lighted oft at lady's eyes ; 
He longed to stretch his wide comnwd 
O'er luckless Clara's ample land: 
Besides, when Wilton with him vied. 
Although the pang of humbled pride 
The place of jealousy supplied. 



CANTO v.] MAJIMION. 223 

Yet conquest, by tliat meannesss ytou 

He almost loathed to think upou. 

Led him, at ti;iics, to La,te the cause, 

Which made him burst through honour's laws. 

If e'er he loved, 'twas her alone, 

"VVho died within that vault of stone. 



And now, when close at hand they saw 
North- Berwick's town and lofty Law, 
Fitz-Eustace bade them pause a while. 
Before a venerable pile,* 

Whose turrets viewed, afar. 
The lofty Bass, the Lambie Isle, 

The ocean's peace, of war. 
At tolling of a bell, forth came 
The convent's venerable Dame, 
And prayed Saint Hilda's Abbess rest 
Witii her, a loved and honoured guest. 
Till Douglas should a bark prepare. 
To waft her back to Whitby fair. 
Glad was the Abbci3, you may guess. 
And thanked the Scottish Prioress ; 
And tedious were to tell, I ween. 
The courteous speech that passed between. 

O'erjoyed the nuns their palfreys leave : 
But when fair Clara did intend. 
Like them, from horseback to descend, 

Fitz-Eustace said, — " I grieve, 

Fair lady, grieve e'en from my heart, 

Such gentle company to part. — 
Think not discourtesy. 

But Lords' commands must be obeyed ; 

And Marmion and the Douglas said, 
That you must wend with me. 

Lord Marmion hath a letter broad, 

Which to the Scottish Earl he showed, 

Commanding, that, beneath his care, 

Without delay, you shall repair. 

To your good kinsman, Lord Fitz- Clare."— 

* The convent alluded to ig a, foundation of Cistertian nuns neat 
k ©."Vh Berwick, of which there are Btill some remains. It wat 
fouixded by Duncan Earl of Fife> in 12U^ 



224 MARMION. 



[CANTO V. 



The startled Abbess loud exciaimed ; 
But she, at whom the biow v.aji aitued. 
Grew pale as death, and cold as lead, — 
She deemed she heard her death-doom read. 
" Cheer thee, my child !"' the Abbess said, 
"^ They dare not tear ihee from ray haud. 
To ride alone with armed band." — 

" Nay, holy mother, nay," 
Fitz- Eustace said, " the lovely Clare 
Will be in Lady Angus' care, 

In Scotland while we stay ; 
And, when we move, an easy ride 
AX'ili bring us to the English side, 
Female attendance to provide 

Behtting (jrloster's heir ; 
Nor thinks, nor dreams, my noble lord. 
By slightest look, or act, or word, 

To harass Lady Clare. 
Her faithful guardian he will be, 
Nor sue for slightest courtesy 

That e'en to strajiger falls. 
Till he shall place her, safe and free, 

"Within her kinsman's halls." — 
He spoke, and blushed with earnest grace 
His faith was painted on his face, 

And Clare's worst fear relieved. 
The Lady Abbess loud exclaimed 
On Henry, and the Douglas blamed. 

Entreated, threatened, grieved ; 
To martyr, saint, and prophet prayed. 
Against Lord Marmion inveighed, 
And called the Prioress to aid. 
To curse with candle, bell, and book, — 
Her head the grave Cistertian shook: 
"The Douglas, and the King," she said) 
"In their commands will be obeyed; 
Grieve not, nor dieam that harm can fall 
The maiden iu Tantallon hall." — ■ 

xxxr. 

The Abbess, seeing strife was vain, 
Assumed her wonted state again, — 



CANTO v.] MARMIOX, 225 

For much of state sbe had, — 
Con.po^ed her vtui, and raised her head. 
And — " Bid," iu solemu voice she said, 

" Thy master, bold aud bad. 
The records of his huuse Uun o'er, 

And, when he shall there written see, 

Thiit one of his ovvn ancestry 

Drove tlie Monks forth of Coventry,* 
Bid him his fate e.\j)lore ! 

Prancing in pride of earthly trust. 

His charger hurled him to the dust, 

And, by a base plebeian thrust, 
He died his baud before. 

God judge 'twixl Marmion and me; 

He is a cliief of high degree, 
And i a poor recluse ; • 

Vet oft, in holy writ, we see 

Even such weak minister as me 
May the oppiessor bruise : 

For thus, inspired, did Judith slay 
The migbty iu his sin, 

And Jael thus, and Deborah," — 
Here basty Blount broke in : 
*' Fitz- Eustace, we must march our laud; 
St Anton' tire thee ! wilt thou stand 
All day, with bonnet in thy hand. 

To hear the Lady preach ? 
By this good iigbi f il thus we stay, 
hnd Marmion, for our fond delay. 

Will sharper sermon teach. 
Come, don thy caj), and mount thy borKj; 
The Dame must patience take perforce." — 

XXXII. 

"■ Submit we then to force," said Clare ; 
"But let this barbaious lord despair 
His purposed aim to win; 

• Bohert (ie Marniinn, in the reism of King Btephen. hsvicg ex 
pelWil the iifiiikx ficni tUe fhur.Ti of Ciivtiitry, was unt l<in)i oi 
exp>-ri>-iii'iii» the diviiif jii<lgiiieiit, as the kaiiie iiioiikH mi doubt 
teriiii-<l his dian^ter Having \vaj<ed n »t-ud;il war with the Karl <>l 
Clie»iei. Maruiioii 8 horte lell, as he cliartjed aKainm a body of the 
tari'» ><>ni>»t!r«: ilie rider's ttii-ih heiup biokeu by the fall, hit 
hf!ui wfi8 cutoff by a cuiuiuou fuui-svicUer, eru be oouid rec«ir4 
•ay 



226 MAEMION. CCA* 

Let him take living, land, and b'fe; 
But to be Maraiion's ^veilded wiio* 

In me were deudly sin : 
And if it be the king s decree, 
That I must find no sanctuary. 
Where even a homicide might come, 

And sal'ely rest his head, 
Though at its open poitals stood. 
Thirsting to pour forth blood for blood, 
" The kmsmen of the dead ; 
Yet one asylum is my own. 

Against the dreaded hour ; 
A low, a silent, and a lone. 

Where kings have little power. 
One victim is before me there. — 
Mother, yOur blessing, and in prayer 
Remember your unhappy Clare T' — 
Loud weeps the Abbess, and bestows 

Kind blessings many a one ; 
Weeping and wailing loud arose 
Round patient Clare, the clamorous woei 

Of every simple nun. 
His eyes the gentle Eustace dried. 
And scarce rude Blount the sight could bidA 

I'hen took the squire her rein, 
And gently led away her steed. 
And, by each comteous word and deed. 

To cheer her strove in vain. 

xxxm. 
But scant three miles the band had rode, 

When o'er a height they passed, 
And, sudden, close before them showed 

His towers, Tantallon vast : 
Broad, massive, high, and stretching far. 
And held impregnable in war. 
On a projecting rock they rose. 
And round three sides the ocean flows ; 
The fourth did battled walls enclose. 

And double mound and fosse. 
By narrow draw-bridge, outworks strong, 
Through studded gates, an entrance long, 

To Uie main coiirt they cxoss. 



CANTO v.] MABMION. 

It was a wide and stately square ; 
Around were lodgings, fit and fair, 

And towers of various form. 
Which on the court projected far, 
And broke its lines quadrangular. 
Here was square keep, there turret high. 
Or pinnace that sought the sky. 
Whence oft the Warder could descry 

The gathering ocean-storm. 



Here did they rest.— The princely car© 
Of Douglas, why should I declare. 
Or say they met reception fair.' 

Or why the tidings say, 
Which, varj-ing, to Tantallon came, 
By hurrying posts, or fleeter fame, 

With every varying day? 
And, first, they heard King James had wou 

Ettall, and Wark, and Ford ; and then. 

That Norham castle strong was ta'en. 
At that sore marvelled Marmion ; — 
And Douglas hoped his Monarch's hand 
Would soon subdue Northumberland : 

But whispered news there came, 
That, while his host inactive lay. 
And melted by degrees away, 
King James was dallying off the day 

With Heron's wily dame. — 
Such aets to chronicles I yield ; 

Go seek them there, and see : 
Mine is a tale of Flodden Field, 

And not a history. — 
At length they heard the Scottish host 
On that high ridge had made their post, 

Which frowns o'er Millfield Plain; 
And that brave Sun-ey many a band 
Had gathered in the southern land. 
And marched into Northumberland, 

And camp at Wooler ta'en. 
Marmion, like charger in the stall. 
That hears without the trumpet caul, 



227 



2^8 MARMION. [CANTO VI 

Began to chafe, and swear : — 
•* A sorry tiling to hide my head 
In castle, like a fearful maid, 

VN'hen such a field is i. ear ; 
Needs must I see this battle-day : 
Death to my fame, if such a fray 
"Weie fought, and Marmion away ! 

The Douglas, too, I wot not why. 

Hath 'bated of his courtesy : 
No longer in his halls I'll stay." — 
Then hade his band, they should array 
For march against the da\viiiiig day. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH. 
To Richard Heber, Esq. 

Mcrfoun. House, Christmas. 
HeaP on more wood !— the wind is chill ; 
But let it whistle as it will, 
We'll keep our Christmas merry still. 
Each age has deemed the new-born year 
The fittest time for festal cheer : 
Even heathen yet, the savage Dane 
At lol more deep the mead did drain ;* 
High on the beach his galleys drew, 
And feasted all his pirate crew ; 
Then in his low and pine-built hall. 
Where shields and axes decked the wall, 
They gorged upon the half-dressed steer ; 
Caroused in seas of sable beer ; 



* The lol of the heathen Danes (a word still applied to ChTi«l« 
mas in Scotland,) was solemnized with great festivitj-. The htt- 
mour of the Danes at table displayed itself in peltin'.' eat-h othei 
with bones : and Torfseus tells a curious story, ot .me Hottiit, who 
Wits so jfenerally assaileil with these missiles, that he cmstrncted, 
out of the bnnes uith which he was overwhelmed, a very respect- 
able intrenchment, against those who continni-d the railliry. In the 
dances of the north' rn warriors round the srreHt, fires of (hie-trees, 
they danced wiih Buch fury, holdins: each other by the hands, 
that, if the eraap of any failed, he was pitched into the fire with 
the vcloiity of a sling. The sufferer, on such occasions, was in- 
Rtanil^ plucked out, and obliged to qnatf off a certaiu measure o' 
•lie 



^iiy plucked out, ami oDiigea to qiian on 
aHl peimliy iot "cpoUiiiR the kings fire 



CANTO VI.J MARIIION- ^ 

TMiile round, in bmta.1 jest, vrere thrown 

The half-gnawed rih, aiio marrow-l>ft2.e ; 

Or listened all, in grim delight, 

While scalds yelled out the joys of fight. 

Then forth, in frenzy, would -thoy hie, 

While wildly loose their red locks Ay, 

And dancing round the blazing pile, 

They make such barbarous mirth the while. 

As best migh;, to the mind recall 

The boisterous joys of Odin's hall. 

And well our Christian sires of old 
Loved when the year its course had rolled. 
And brought blithe Christmas back again. 
With all his hospitable train. 
Pomestic and religious rite 
Gave honour to the holy night : 
On Christmas eve the bells were rung; 
On Christmas eve the mass was sung ;* 
That only night, in all the year, 
Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear. 
The damsel donned her kiitlc sheen ; 
The hall was dressed with holly green; 
Forth to the wood did merry-men go. 
To gather in the misletoe. 
Then opened wide the baron's hall 
To vassal, tenant, serf, and all ; 
Pov."er laid his rod of rule aside, 
And Ceremony dolled his pride. 
The heir, with roses in his shoes. 
That night might village partner choose ; 
Tlie lord, underogating, share 
The vulgar game of '' post and pair." 
AP hailed, with uncontrolled delight, 
And general voice, the happy night, 
That to the cottage, as the crown. 
Brought tidings of salvation down. 

The fire, with well-dried logs supplied. 
Went roaring up the chimney wide; 
The huge hall-table's oaken face, 
Scrubbed till it shone, the day to grace, 

* In Roman Catholic countries, mass is never (aid at night, 
ceptiiig ou Cluistmas eve. 



230 MARMION. [CANTO VI 

Bore then upon its massive board 

No mark to part the squire arni k.rd. 

Then was brought iu tne lusty bravm. 

By old blue-coated sening-man ; 

Then the grim boar's-head frowned on hi^l» 

Crested with bays and rosemary. 

Well can the green-garbed ranger tell. 

How, when, and where, the monster fell ; 

What dogs before hi? death he tore, 

And all the baiting of the boar. 

The wassel round in good broAivn bowls. 

Garnished with ribbons, blithely trowls. 

There the huge sirloin reeked ; hard by 

Plumb-porridge stood, and Christmas pye; 

Nor failed old Scotland to produce, , 

At such high-tide, her savoury goose. 

Then came the merry- masquers in. 

And carols roared with blythesome din ; 

If unmelodious was the song, 

It was a hearty note, and strong. 

Who lists may in their mumming see 

Traces of ancient mystery ;* 

White shirts supplied the masquerade. 

And smutted cheeks the visors made : 

But, O ! what masquers richly dight 

Can boast of bosoms half so light ! 

England was merry England, when 

Old Christmas brought his sports again. 

'Twas Christmas broached the mitfhtiest ale j 

'Twas Christmas told the men-iest tale; 

A Christmas gambol oft could cheer 

The poor man's heart through half the year. 

Still linger in our northern clime 
Some remnants of the good old time ; 
And still, within our vallies here, 
We hold the kindred title dear, 
Even when perchance its far-fetched claim 
To Southron ear sounds empty name ; 

■ • It leems certain, that the Mummers of Englaiicl, who nsej to 
40 about in disguise to tl>e neiuhhoTiriiig houses, b>'ariiig the then 
ueelcs!) phiughshare; and the Gui.':ards of ScotUmd, not yet in 
total diHiise, present, in siime indistinct depree, a shadow of tba 
cld ra>'st«iieS| which were the orixin of the KtigUsh drama. 



CANTO VL] MARMION. 231 

For course of blood, our prorerhs deem. 
Is -warmer than the mountain -stream.* 
And thus, my Christmas still I bold 
Where my great-grandsire c;uuc of old;+ 
With amber beard, and flaxen hair, 
And reverend apostolic air — 
The feast and holy-tide to shaxe, 
And mix sobriety with wine, 
And honest mirth with thoughts divina : 
Small thought was his, in after time 
E'er to be hitched into a rh}Tne, 
The simple sire could only boast. 
That he was loyal to his cost ; 
The banished race of kings revered. 
And lost his land, — but kept his beard. 

In these dear halls, where welcome kind, 
Is with fair liberty combined ; 
Where cordial friendship gives the hand, 
And flies constraint the magic wand 
Of the fair dame that rules the land. 
Little we heed the tempest drear. 
While music, mirth, and social cheer, 
Speed on their win^s the passing year. 
And Mertoun's halls are fair e'eu now. 
When not a leaf is on the bough. 
Tweed loves them well, and turns again. 
As loath to leave the sweet domain ; 
And holds his mirror to her face, 
And clips her with a close embrace : — 
Gladly as he, we seek the dome, 
And as reluctant turn us home. 

How just, that, at this time of glee, 
My thoughts should, Heber, turn to thee ! 
For many a merry hour we've known. 
And heard the chimes of midnight's tone. 

* "Blood is warmer than water," — a proverb meant to rlndfr 
cate our family predilectiotia. 

1 This venerable old gentleman was the younger brother o| 
William Scott of Beaburn. Ueiiig the cadet of a cadet of th« 
Harden family, he had very little to lose ; yet he contrived to inae 
the small property he had, bv ei'gasring in the civil n-ars and in- 
trttjues of the house of Siuart. llTis veiieruticu for the exiled 
family wag so great, that he swore ha would not 8hav« his buttcd 
till they were restored. 



232 MARMION. [CANTO VI 

Cease, then, my friend ! a moment cease, 
And leave these classic toTies in peace I 
Of Roman and of Glecian lore, 
Sure mortal brain can Umd no more. 
These ancients, as Noll Bluff might say 
Were "■ pretty ifellows in their day,"* 
But time and tide o'er all prevail — 
On Christmas eve a Christmas tale— 
Of wonder and of war — " Profane ! 
What ! leave the lofty Latian strain, . 
Her stately prose, her verse's charms. 
To hear the clash of rusty arms ; 
In Fairy Laud or Limbo lost, 
To jostle conjuror and ghost, 
(roblin and witch !" — Nay, Heber vlear, 

Before you touch mychaiter, ht^ar. 
Though Leyden aids, alas ! no more, 
My cause with many-languaged lore. 
This may I say : — in realms of death 

Ulysses meets Alcides' wraiili; 

^neas, upon Thracia's shore. 

The ghost of murdered Poiydore; 

For omens, we in Livy cross. 

At every turn, locutus Bos. 

As grave and duly speaks that ox. 

As if he told the price of stocks ; 

Or held, in Rome republican. 

The place of Commou-couucilmau. 
All nations have their omens drear. 

Their legends wild of woe and fear. 

To Cambria look — the peasant see, 

Bethink him of Glendowerdy, 

And shun " the spirit's blasted tree." 

The Highla-nder, whose red cla\Tnor& 

The battle turned on Maida's shore, 

^^ ill, on a Friday morn, look pale, 

If asked to tell a fairy tale :+ 

* " H;ir>i>itial was a pretliy fellow, sir — a very preti> /cllow In 
nis ri«y"— O/rf /iac/ir/or. 

1 Tlie belief in tiiiries, is deeply impressed on tlie Highlanders, 
who lliink ihiy are pai lit ularly ofteiKled vvjili innital!,. wlm talk 
o< theiii, wlin uear tlieir favourite e 1 iiir pieeii,oi in Huy i'es|:«ct 
iniei'tr-ie with their affiiirs. This is particularly to he iivoided on 
Vridrfy, wlieu they are Diore active, and pogsesheil ol irre.ile* 
sower. 



CAirro VX3 marmion. 233 

He fears the vengeful Elfin King, 
Who leaves that day his grassy ring ; 
Invisible to human ken, 
He walks among the sons of men. 

Didst e'er, dear Heber, pass along 
Beneath the to-\vers of Franchemont,* 
Which, like an eagle's nest in air, 
Hang o'er the stream and hamlet fair? — 
Deep in their vaults, the peasants say, 
A mighty treasure buried lay, 
Amassed through rapine, and through wroag, 
By the last lord of Franchemont. 
The iron chest is bolted hard, 
A Huntsman sits, its constant guard; 
Around his neck his hooi is hung, 
His hanger in his belt is slung; 
Before his feet his bloodhounds lie: 
An 'twere not for his gloomy eye. 
Whose withering glame no heart can brook, 
As true a huntsman doth he look, 
Aa bugle e'er in brake did sound 
Or ever hollowed to a hound. 
To chase the fiend, and win the prize. 
In that' same dungeon ever tries 
An aged Necromantic Priest; 
It is an hundred years at least. 
Since 'twixt them first the strife begun, 
And neither yet has lost or won. 
And oft the conjuror's words will make 
The stubborn Demon groan and quake; 
And oft the bands of iron break. 
Or bursts one lock, that still amain, 
Fast as 'tis opened, shuts again. 
That magic strife within the tomb 
May last imtil the day of doom^ 

* It is firmly believed bv the neighbouring peasantry, that the 
la3t Baron of Franchemont (ieposited, in one of the vaults of th« 
castle, a ponderous chest, contaiiiina: an immense treasure in gold 
and silver, which, by some magic spell, was intrusted to the care 
of the devil, who is constantly found sitting on the chest in the 
shape of a huutsmaiL Any one adventurous enough to touch the 
cbe»t, is inatantly seized with the palsy. Yet if any body can 
discoTer the mystic words used by the person who depositeu 
the treasure, and pronounce them, the fiend must instantly 
decamp. 



23* MARMION. CCANTO VS 

Unless the AJept shall learn to tell 
The very word that clenched the spell, 
When Franch'mont locked the treasure cell. 
An hundred years are past and gone, 
And scarce three letters has he won. 

Such general superstition may 
Excuse for old Pitscottie say; 
Whose gossip history has given 
My song the messenger from heaven, 
That warned, in Lithgow, Scotland's King, 
Nor less the infernal summoning. 
May pass the monk of Durham's tale, 
Whose Demon fought in Gothic mail; 
May pardon plead for Fordun grave. 
Who told of Gifford's Goblin-Cave. 
But why such instances to you, 
Who, in an instant, can re^•iew 
Your treasured hoards of various lore. 
And furnish twenty thousand more? 
Hoards, not like their's whose volumes resk 
Like treasures in the Franch'mont chest; 
WTiile gripple ovmers still refuse 
To others what they cannot use; 
Give them the priest's whole century. 
They shall not spell you letters three; 
Their pleasure in the book's the same 
The magpie takes in pilfered gem. 
Thy volumes, open as thy heart. 
Delight, amusement, science, art, 
To every ear and eye impart; 
Yet who, of all who thus employ thcM, 
Can, like the owner's self, enjoy them?— - 
But, hark ! I hear the distant drum : 
The day of Flodden field is come. — 
Adieu, dear Heber! life and health. 
And store of literary wealth. 

CANTO SIXTH. 

€fiz 13attlc. 

I. 

While great events were on the gale. 
And each hour brought a varying tale 



CANTO VIO MABMION. 

And the demeanour, changed and cold. 

Of Douglas, fretted Marmion bold, 

Aud like the impatient steed of war, 

He snuffed the battle from afar ; 

And hopes were none, that back again, 

Herald should come from Terouenne, 

Where England's King in leaguer lay, 

Before decisive battle-day; 

While these things were, the mournful Clare 

Did in the Dame's devotions share : 

For the good Countess ceaseless prayed. 

To Heaven and Saints, her sons to aid, 

And, with short interval, did pass 

From prayer to book, from book to mass, 

Aud all in high Baronial pride, — 

A life both dull and dignitied; — ■ 

Vet as Jiord Marmion nottimg pressed 

Upon her intervals of rest. 

Dejected Clara well could bear 

The formal state, the lengthened prayer, 

Though dearest to her wounded heart, 

The hours that she might spend apart. 

II. 

I said, Tantallon's dizzy steep 

Hung o'er the margin of the deep, 

Many a rude tower and rampart there 

Repelled the insult of the air, 

Wliich, when the tempest vexed the sky, 

Half breeze, half spray, came whistling by 

Above the rest, a turret square 

Did o'er its Gothic entrance bear, 

Of sculpture mde, a stony shield; 

The Bloody Heart was in the field, 

And in the chief three muUets stood. 

The cognizance of Douglas blood. 

The turret held a narrow stair, 

Which, mounted, gave you access 'where 

A parapet's embattled row 

Did seaward round the castle go; 

Sometimes in dizzy steps descending. 

Sometimes in narrow circuit bending, 

Sometimes in platform broad extenmnf^ 



^6 MARMION. La\NTO VI 

Its varying circle did combine 

Bulwark, and bartisan, and line, 

And bastion, tower, and vantage-coign; 

Above the booming ocean leant 

The far-projecting battlement ; 

The billows burst, in ceaseless flo-w, 

Upon the precipice below. 

Where'er Tantallon faced the land, 

Gate- works, and walls, were strongly manned; 

No need upon the sea-girt side; 

The steepy rock, and frantic tide, 

Approach of human step denied ; 

And thus these lines, and ramparts rude, 

Were left in deepest solitude. 

III. 
And, for they were so lonely, Clare 
W^ould to these battlements repair. 
And muse upon her sorrows there, 

And list the sea^-bird's cry; 
Or slow, like noon-tide ghost, would glide 
Along the dark-gray bulwarks' side, 
And ever on the heaving tide 

Look down with weary eye. 
Oft did the cliflF, and swelling main, 
Recall the thoughts of W~hitby's fane,- 
A home she might ne'er see again ; 

For she had laid adown. 
So Douglas bade, the hood and veil, 
And frontlet of the cloister pale, 

And Benedictine gown: 
It were unseemly sight, he said, 
A novice out of convent shade- 
Now her bright locks, with sunny glow 
Again adorned her brow of snow; 
Her mantle rich, whose borders, round* 
A deep and fretted broidery bound, 
In golden foldings sought the groand; 
Of holy ornament, alone 
Remained a cross with ruby stone; 

And often did she look 
On that which in her hand she bore 
With velvet boimd, and broidered o'eiv 

Her breviary book 



CANTO VL] MAKMION. 237 

In such a place, so lone, so grim, 
At dawning pale, or twilight dim. 

It fearful would have been, 
To meet a foi-m so richly dressed. 
With book in hand, and cross on breast, 

And such a woeful mien. 
Fitz- Eustace, loitering with his bow. 
To practise on the gull and crow, 
Saw her, at distance, gliding slow, 

And did by Mary swear, — 
Some love-lorn Fay she might have been. 
Or, in romance, some spell-bound queen; 
For ne'er, in work-day world, was seen 

A form so mtching fair. 

IV. 

Onoe -walking thus, at evening tide, 

It chanced a gliding sail she spied. 

And, sighing, thought — "The Abbess there, 

Perchance, does to her home repair; 

Her peaceful rule, where Duty, free, 

Walks hand in hand with Charity; 

Where oft Devotion's tranced glow 

Can such a glimpse of heaven bestow. 

That the enraptured sisters see 

High vision, and deep mystery; 

The very form of Hilda fair. 

Hovering upon the sunny air, 

And smiling on her votaries' prayer. 

O ! wherefore to my duller eye. 

Did still the Saint her form deny! 

Was it, that, seared by sinful scorn. 

My heart could neither melt nor bum? 

Or lie mv warm affections low. 

With him that taught them first to glow?— i 

Yet, gentle Abbess, well I knew. 

To pay thy kindness grateful due. 

And well could brook the mild command. 

That ruled thy simple maiden band. — 

How diil'erent now ! condemned to bide 

My doom from this dark t}Tant's pride.— 

But Marmion has to learn, ere long. 

That constant mind, and hate of wrong, 



23S HAKmoN. coA?no vi 

Descended to a feeble girl. 

Prom Red De Clare, stout Gloster's Earl: 

Of such a stem, a sapling weak, 

He ne'er shall bend, although he break. 

V. 

"But Bee! — ^what makes this armour here?^ 

For in her path there lay 
Targe, corslet, helm ; — she viewed them near.— 
"The breast-plate pierced! — Aye, much I fear. 
Weak fence wert thou 'gainst foeman's spear, 
That hath made fatal entrance here, 

As these dark blood-gouts say. — 
Thus Wilton ! — Oh ! not corslet's ward, 
Not truth, as diamond pure and hard. 
Could be thy manly bosom's guard. 

On yon disastrous day!" — 
She raised her eyes in mournful mood, — 
Wilton himself before her stood! 
It might have seemed his passing ghost, 
For every youthful grace was lost; 
And jov unwonted, and surprise, 
Ghive their strange wilduess to his eyes. — 
Expect not, noble dames and lords, . 

That I can tell such scene in words : 
What skilful limner e'er would choose 
To paint the rainbow's varj-ing hues. 
Unless to mortal it were given 
To dip bis brush in dyes of heaven? 

Far less can my weak line declare 
Elach changing passion's shade; 

Brightening to rapture from despair, 

Sorrow, surprise, ana pity there. 

And joy, with her angelic air. 

And hope, that paints the future fair, 
Their vaiying hues displayed: 
Each o'er its rival's ground extending, 
Alternate conquering, shifting, blending, 
Till all fatigued, the conflict yield. 
And mighty Love retains the field. 
Shortly 1 tell what then he said,. 
By many a tender word delayed. 



CANTO VI.-J MARMIOX. 

And modest bluslj, and bursting sigli, 
And question kuid, and fond reply. 

VI. 
DE WILTON'S HISTGB7. 

" Forget we tbat disastrous day, 

When senseless in the lists I lay. 

Tiience dragged, — but how I cannot knoW) 

P'or sense and re<?ol]ection fled, — 
1 found me on a p&ijUsc aow, 

Within my ancient Deathman's shed, 
Austin, — remember' st thou, my Clai-e, 

How thou didst blush, wheu the old mai^ 
When first our infant love began, 
Said we would make a matchless pair? — . 
Menials, and friends, and kinsmen fled 
From the degraded traitor's bed, — 
He only held my burning head, 
And tended me for many a day, 
While wounds and fever held their S'Way. 
But far more needful was his care. 
When sense returned to wake despair 
For I did tear the closing wound. 
And dash me frantic on the ground. 
If e'er I heard the name of Clare. 
At length, to calmer reason brought, 
Much by his kind attendance Avrought, 

With him I left my native strand. 
And, in a palmer's weeds arrayed, 
My hated name and form to shade, 

I journeyed many a land; 
No more a lord of rank and birth. 
But mingled vnth the dregs of eai"th. 
Oft Austin for my reason feared. 

When I would sit, and deeply brood 
On dark revenge, and deeds of blood, 
Or wild mad schemes upreared. 

My friend at length fell sick, and said* 

God would remove him soon; 
And while upon his dying bed, 
He begged of me a boon — 



240 UARMION. CCASTQ VI 

If ere my deadliest enemy 
Beneath my brand should conquered lie, 
Even then my mercy should awake, 
And spare his life for Austin's sake. 



" Still restless as a second Cain, 
To Scotland next my rout was ta'en. 

Full well the paths I knew; 
Fame of my fate made various sound. 
That death in pilgrimage I found, 
That I had perished of my wound, — 

None cared which tale was true : 
And living eye could never guess 
De Wilton in his palmer's dress; 

For now that sable slough is shed. 

And trimmed my shaggy beard and headj 
I scarcely know me in a glass. 
A chance most wond'rous did provide, 
That I should be that Baron's guide — • 

I will not name his name ! — 
Vengeance to Grod alone belongs; 
But, when I think on all my wrongs, 

My blood is liquid flame! 
And ne'er the time shall I forget. 
When, in a Scottish hostel set. 

Dark looks we did exchange: 
What were his thoughts I cannot tell 
Bat in my bosom mustered Hell 

Its plans of dajk revenge. 



"A word of vulgar augury. 

That broke from me, I scarce knew yrbj. 

Brought on a village tale; 
Which wrought upon his moody sprite 
And sent him armed forth by night. 

I borrowed steed and mail. 
And weapons, from his sleeping band; 

And, passing from a postern door. 
We met, and 'countered, hand to handr* 

He fell on Gifford-moor. 



OANTO VI.] MARMION. 24* 

For the death-stroke my brand I drew, 
(O then say helmed head he knew, 

The Palmer's cowl was gone,) 
Then had three inches of my blade 
The heavy debt of vengeance paid, — 
My hand the thought of Austin staid ; 

I left him there alone. — 
O good old man ! even from the gra'VC^ 
Thy spirit could thy master s&vo : 
If I had slain my foeman, ne'er 
Had Whitby's Abbess, in her fear, 
Given to my hand this packet dear. 
Of power to clear iny injured fame. 
And vindicate De Wilton's name. — 
Perchance you heard the Abbess tell 
Of the strange pageantry of Hell, 

That broke our secret speech- 
It rose from the infernal shade, 
Or featly was some juggle played, 

A tale of peace to teach. 
Appeal to Heaven I judged was best. 
When my name came among the rest. 

IX. 

** Now here, within Tantallon Hold, 

To Douglas late my tale I told. 

To whom my house was knowTi of old. 

Won by my proofs, his falchion bright 

This eve anew shall dub me knight. 

These were the arms that once did turn 

The tide of fight on Otterbume, 

And Harry Hotspur forced to yield. 

When the Dead Douglas won the field. 

These Angus gave — his armoorer'a care, 

Ere morn, shall every breach repair ; 

For nought, he said, was in his halla. 

But ancient armour on the ^vaila, 

And aged chargers in the stalls, 

And women, priests, and gray-haired men ; 

The rest were all in Twisell glen.* 

And now I watch my armour here, 

By law of arms, till midnight's near ; 

• Where Jaoies encamped b«A>re taking post on 



242 MARMION. CCAMTOn. 

Then, once again a beltod knight, 
Seek Surrey's camp -svilh da^vn of light 



" Tljere soon again we meet, my Clare I 
Tliis Baron means to guide thee there : 
Douglas reveres his king's command, 
Else would he take thee from his band. 
And there thy kinsman, Surrey, too, 
Will give De Wilton justice due. 
Now meeter far for martial broil. 
Firmer my limbs, and strung by toil, 

Once more" " O, Wilton ! must we then 

Risk new-found happiness again. 
Trust* fate of arms once more? 
And is there not a humble glen. 
Where we, content and poor. 
Might build a cottage in the shade, 
A shepherd thou, and I to aid 

Thy task on dale and moor ? — 
That reddening brow ! — too well I know, 
Not even thy Clare can peace bestow, 

While falsehood stains thy name : 
Go then to fight ! Clare bids thee go ! 
Clare can a warrior's feelings know, 

And weep a warrior's shame ; 
Can Red Earl Gilbert's spirit feel. 
Buckle the spurs upon thy heel. 
And belt thee with thy brand of steel. 
And send thee forth to fame !" — 



That night, upon the rocks and bay, 
The midnight moon-beam slumbering lay, 
And poured its silver light, and pure. 
Through loop-hole, and through embrazure. 

Upon Tantallon tower and hall ; 
But chief where arched windows wide 
Illuminate the chapel's pride. 

The sober glances fall. 
Much was there need ; though, seamed with scars 
Two veteran? of the Douglas' wars. 



CANTO VI.] • MAllMION. Z4J 

Though two gray priests were there, 
And each a blazing torch held high, 
You could not by their blaze descry 

The chapel's carving fair. 
Amid that dim and smoky light, 
Chequering the silvery moon-shine bright, 

A bishop by the altar stood,* 

A noble lord of Douglas blood. 
With mitre sheen, and rocquet white; 

Yet showed his meek and thoughtful eye 

But little pride of prelacy : 

More pleased that, in a barbarous age 

He gave rude Scotland Virgil's page, 
Than that beneath his rule he held 
The bishopric of fair Dunkeld. 
Beside him ancient Angus stood, 
Doffed his furred gown, and sable hood : 
O'er his huge form, and visage pale. 
He wore a cap and shirt of mail ; 
And lean'd his large and wrinkled hand 
Upon the huge and sweeping brand, 
"W hich wont, of yore, in battle-fray. 
His foeman's limbs to shred away, 
As wood-knife lops the sapling spray.+ 
He seemed as, from the tombs around 

Rising at judgment-day, 
Some giant Douglas may be found 

In all his old an-ay ; 
So pale his face, so huge his limb. 
So old his arms, his look so grim. 

xn. 

Then at the altar Wilton kneels, 
And Clare the spurs bound on his heels ; 
And think what nest he must have- felt. 
At buckling of the falchion belt ! 

* The weU-knowTi Gawain Douglas, BLshop of Dtinkeld, ion ol 
Archibald Bell-the-Cat, Earl of AngTia. He was author of a Scot- 
tish motrioal rersinn of the ^neid, and of many other poetical 
pieces of great merit. He hzid not at this period attained the 
mitre. 

i Angus had strength and personal activity correspondin? to hit 
conrage. Spens of Kilspindio. a favourite of Tames IV., havina 
■pokeii of him lightly, the Earl met him while hawking, anrt 
compelling him to single combat, at one blow cut asunder bid 
thigh bone, and killed him on tlie spot. 



244 MARMION. [CANTO Yt 

And judge how Clara changed her hue. 
While fastening to her lover's side 
A friend, which, though in danger tried. 

He once had found untrue ! 
Then Douglas struck him with his hlade : 
'* Saint Michael and Sain-t Andrew aid, 

I dub thee knight. 
Arise Sir Ralph, De Wilton's heir 1 
For king, for church, for lady fair, 

See that thou fight." — 
And Bishop Gawain, as he rose, 
Said, — " Wilton ! grieve not for thy wocs, 

Disgrace, and trouble, 
For lie, who honour best bestows, 

May give thee double." — 
De Wilton sobbed, for sob he must — 
" Where'er I meet a Douglas, trust 

That Douglas is my brother f — 
" Nay, nay," old Angus said, " not so ; 
To Surrey's camp thou now must go, 

Thy wrongs no longer smother. 
I have two sons in yonder field ; 
And, if thou meet'st them under shield. 
Upon them bravely — do thy worst ; 
And foul fall him that blenches first H* 

XIII. 

Not far advanced was morning day, 
When Marmion did his troop array 

To Surrey's camp to ride ; 
He had safe-conduct for his band, 
Beneath the royal seal and hand. 

And Douglas gave a guide : 
The ancient Earl, with stately grace. 
Would Clara on her palfrey place, 
And whispered, in an under tone, 
" Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown." 
The train from out the castle drew ; 
But Mai-mion stopp'd to bid adieu : — 

" Though something I might j-lain," h-» Gfiii^ 
"• Of cold lespect to stranger guest. 
Sent hither by your king's behest, 

WTiUe in Tantallon's towers I staid ; 



CANTO VL] AURMION. 

Part we in friendship from your land. 
And, noble Earl, receive ray hand." — 
But Douglas round him drew his cloak, 
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke : — 
" My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still 
Be open at my sovereign's will, 
To each one whom he lists, howe'er 
Unmeet to be the o\\Tier's peer, 
My castles are my king's alone, 
From turret to foundation-stone — 
The hand of Douglas is his own ; 



245 



And never shall in friendly grasp 

clasp." 

XIT 



The hand of such as Marmiou 



Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like tii-e. 
And shook his very frame for ire. 

And — " This to me !'' he said, — 
" An 'twere not for thy hoaiy beard, 
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared 

To cleave the Douglas' head ! 
And, first, I tell thee, haughty Peer, 
He, who does England's message here, 
Although the meanest in her state, 
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate : 
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here, 

Even in thy pitch of pride, 
Here in thy hold, thy vassals near, 
(Nay, never look upon your lord, 
And lay your hands upon your sword,) 

I tell thee, thou'rt defied ! 
And if thou said'st, I am not peer 
To any lord in Scotland here. 
Lowland or Highland, far or near, 

Lord Angus, thou hast lied T — 
On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage 
O'ercame the ashen hue of age : 
Fierce he broke forth : — " And dar'st thou then 
To beard the lion in his den, 

The Douglas in his hall ? 
And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go ?— 
No, by Saint Bryde of BothweU, no ! — 
Up drawbridge, grooms — what, Warder ho I 

Lot the portciillis fall." — 



246 MARMION. LCANTO Vt 

Lord Mannion turned, — ^well was his need, 
And dashed the rowels in his steed, 
Like an-ow through the arch-way sprung, 
The ponderous grate hehind him rung : 
To pass there was such scanty room, 
The bars, descending, razed his plume.* 



The steed along the drawbridge flies, 

Just as it trembled o*n the rise ; 

Not lighter does the swallow skim 

Along the smooth lake's level brim : 

And when Lord Marmion reached his band. 

He halts, and turns with clenched hand^ 

And shout of loud defiance pours. 

And shook his gauntlet at the towers. 

*' Horse ! horse !" the Douglas cried, " and chase P 

But soon he reined his fury's pace : 

" A royal messenger he came, 

Though most tm worthy of the name, — 

A letter forged ! Saint Jude to speed ! 

Did ever knight so foul a deed ! 

At first in heart it liked me ill, 

When the King praised his clerkly skill. 

Thanks to Saint Bothan, sou of mine, 

Save Gawain, ne'er could pen a line : 



« This ebullition of violence in the potent Earl of Angus is not 
without its example in the real liistory of the house of Do'iglag, 
Maclellaii, tutor of Bomby, having refused to acknowledge the 
pre-tmiuence clnimed by Douglas over the Barons of Galloway, 
was imprisoned by the Earl, in his castle of the Thrieve. Sir Pat- 
rick Gray, uncle to the tutor of Bomby, obtained from the King a 
"sweet letter of supplication;" praying the Earl to deliver hia 
prisoner into Gray's hand. WTien Sir Patrick arii ved at the castle, 
he was received with all due honour ; but while he wasat dinner, 
the earl caused his prisoner to be led forth and behf aded. After 
dinner. Sir Patrick presented the kind's letter to the Earl, who led 
him forth to tlie green, where the gentleman was lying dead, and 
Baid, " Sir Patrick, you are come a little too late; yonder is your 
sister's son lying, but he wunts the head: take his body, and do 
with it what you wiU." Sir Patiiok answered again with a sore 
heart, and said, " My lord, if ve liave taken from him his head, 
dispone upon the body as you please :" and with that called for hia 
horse, and when he was on horseback, he sa=d to the Earl, " Mjr 
lord, if T live, you shall be rewarded for your laboois, that you have 
used at this time, accordmg to your demerits." At this the Eari 
was highly otiended, and cried for horse. Sir Patrick, seejig the 
Earl's fury, spurred his horse, but he was chased near Ediubvo^ 
ore tbey left him. 



CANTO VI.J MARMIOV. 

So s-wore I, and I swear it still. 
Let my boy-bishop fret his fill. — 
Saint Mary mend my tiery mood ! 
Old age ne'er cools the. Douglas blottd, 
I thought to slay him -where he stoocL— 
'Tis pity of him, too," he cried; _ 
-' Bold can he speak, and fairly ride : 
I warrant him a warrior tritsd. '— 
With this his mandate he recalls. 
And slowly seeks his castlo halls. 

XVI. 
The day in Marmion's journey wore ; 
Yet, ere his passion s gust was o'er, 
They crossed the heights of Stanrigg-moor 
His troop more closely there he scann'd. 
And missed the Palmer from the band. — 
" Palmer or not," young Blount did say, 
" He parted at the peep of day ; 
Good sooth it was in strange array. " 
" In what array ?" said Marmion, quick. 
" My lord, I ill can spell the trick ; 
But all night long, with clink and bang, 
Close to my couch did hammers clang ; 
At dawn the falling drawbridge rang, 
And from a loop-hole while I peep, 
Old Bell-the-Cat came from the Keep, 
Wrapped in a go^vn of sables fair, 
As fearful of the morning air; 
Beneath, when that was blown aside, 
A rusty shirt of mail I spied. 
By Archibald won in bloody work. 
Against the Saracen and Turk : 
Last night it hung not in the hall ; 
I thought some marvel would befialL 
And next I saw them saddled lead 
Old Cheviot forth, the Earl's best steed v 
A matchless horse, though something old. 
Prompt to his paces, cool and bold. 
I heard the Sheriff Sholto say, 
The Earl did much the Master* pray 
To use him on the battle-day ; 

* Hu eldest son. t'ae Master of Ai>«u& 



247 



248 MARMION. [CANTO ▼» 

But he preferred" — " Nay, Henry, cease I 
Tliou sworn horse-courser, hold thy peace. 
Eustace, thou bear'st a brain — I pray, 
What did Blount see at break of day ?"— 



" In brief, my lord, we both descried 
(For I then stood by Ilejuy's side) 
The Palmer mount, and outwaids ride. 

Upon the EarFs own favomite steed; 
AH sheathed he was in armour bright, 
And much resembled that same knight 
Subdued by you in Cotswoid fight ; 

Lord Angus wished him speed." — 
The instant that Fitz- Eustace spoke, 
A sudden light on Mannion broke ; — ■ 
" Ah ! dastard fool, to reason lost !" 
He nmttered ; " 'Twas not fay nor ghost, 
I met upon the moonlight wold, 
But living man of earthly mould. — 

O dotage blind and gross ! 
Had I but fought as wont, one thrust 
Had laid De Wilton in the dust, 

My path no more to cross. — 
How stand we now ? — ^he told ilia tale 
To Douglas ; and with some avail ; 

'Twas therefore gloomed his rugged brow.— 
Will Surrey dare to entertain, 
'Gainst Marmion, charge disproved and vain? 

Small risk of that I trow. — 
Yet Clare's sharp questions must I shun ; 
Must separate Constance from the Nun — 

what a tangled web we weave, 
"\\Tien first we practise to deceive — 
A Palmer too ! — no wonder why 

1 felt rebuked beneath his eye : 

I might have known there was but one, 
Whose look could quell Lord Marmion." 



Stung v?ith these thoughts, he urged to speed 
His troop, and reached, at eve, the Tweed, 



CANTO VL] MARMION. 249 

Where Lennel's convent closed their march:* 
rlTiere now is left but one frail arch, 

Yet mourn thou not its cells ; 
Onr time a fair exchange has made; 
Hard by, in hospitable shade, 

A reverend pilgrim dwells, 
Well worth the whole Bernardine brood, 
That e'er wore sandal, frock, or hood.) 
Yet did Saint Bernard's Abbot there 
Give Marmion entertainment fair, 
And lodging for his train, and Clare. 
Next morn the Baron climbed the tower, 
To view afar the Scottish power, 

Encamped on Flodden edge : 
The white pavilions made a show. 
Like remnants of the winter snow. 

Along the dusky ridge. 
Long Marmion looked : — at length his eye 
Unusual movement might descry. 

Amid the shifting lines: 
The Scottish host drawn out appears, 
For, flashing on the hedge of spears 

The eastern sun-beam shines. 
Their front now deepening, now extending. 
Their flank inclining, wheeling, bending, 
Now drawing back, and now descending, 
The skilful Marmion well could know. 
They watched the motions of some foe, 
Who traversed on the plain below. 

XIX. 

Even so it was; — from Flodden ridge 
The Scots beheld the English host 
Leave Barmore-wood, their evening post. 
And heedful watched them as they crossed 

The Till by Twisel bridge.f 

• ThiB was a Cistertian house of reli^on, now almost entirely 
demolished. It is situated near Coldstream, almost opposite to 
Cornhill. and consequently very near to Flodden Field. 

+ On the evening previous to the memorable battle of Flodden, 
Surrey's head-quarters were at Barmoor wood, and Kin^ Jamei 
ht!ld an inaocesaible position on the ridge of Flodden hills, one ot 
the last and lowest eminences detached from the rid«fe of Cheviot. 
TheTilU a deep and sli>w river, winde 1 between the armies. Or 
tfa« morning' of the 9th September, 1513, Surrey marched in 

1.2 



250 MARMION. CCAMTO VI 

•High sight it is, and haughty, while 
They dive into the deep defile ; 
Beneath the cavemed cliff they fall, 
Beneath the castle's airy wall. 

By rock, by oak, by hawthorn tree, 
Troop after troop are disappearing; 
Troop after troop their banners rearing, 

Upon the eastern bank you see. 
Still pouring down the rocky den. 

Where flows the sullen Till, 
And rising from the dim- wood glen. 
Standards on standards, xuen oJi men. 

In slow succession still. 
And sweeping o'er the Gothic arch, 
And pressing on, in ceaseless march. 

To gain the opposing hill. 
That morn, to many a trumpet-clang, 
Twisel! thy rocks deep echo rang; 
And many a chief of birth and rank. 
Saint Helen! at thy fountain drank. 
Thy hawthorn glade, which now we s«3 
In spring-tide bloom so lavishly. 
Had then from many an axe its doom, 
To give the marching colunms room. 

And why stands Scotland idly now, 
Dark Flodden! on thy airy brow. 
Since England gains the pass the while, 
And struggles through the deep defile? 
What checks the fiery soxil of James? 
Why sits that champion of the Dames 

Inactive on his steed. 
And sees, between him and his land. 
Between him and Tweed's southern strand. 

His host Lord Surrey lead? 



north-westerly direction, and, turning eastward, crossei the "nil, 
with his van and artillery, at Twisel bridge, nigh wh«;re that 
river joins the Tweed, his renr-guard column passing about a 
mile higher, by a ford. This movement had the double effect o< 



blacing his army between King James and his supplies tronj 
Bcotland, and of striking the Scottish monirch with surprise, aa 
ne teems to have lelied on the depth of the river in his front. 



CAKTO VL] MARMION. 251 

What vails the vain knights eirant's vtatm 
O, Douglas, for thy leading wand! 
Fieixe Randolpa, for thy speed! 
O for one hour of Wallace wight, 
Or well skilled Bruce, to rul« the fight, 
And cry — " Saint Andrew and our right!** 
Another sight had seen that mom, 
From Fate's dark book a leaf been torn, 
And Flodden had b«en Bannock-bourne!^ 
The precious hour has passed ir. ^»i3j.._ 
And liugiand's host has gained the plaia. 
Wheeling their march, and circling still, 
Around the base of Fiodden-hill. 

XXI. 

Ere yet the bands met Marmion's eye, 
Fitz- Eustace shouted loud and high, — 
" Hark ! hark 1 my lord, an English drum! 
And see ascending squadrons come 

Between Tweed's river and the hill. 
Foot, horse, and cannon : — ^hap what hap, 
Mv basnet to a 'prentice cap, 

Lord Surrey's o'er the Till ! — 
Yet more 1 yet more ! — how fair arrayed 
They file from out the hawthorn shade, 

And sweep so gallant by ! 
With all their banners bravely spread. 

And all their armour flashing high. 
Saint George might waken from the dead. 

To see fair England's standards fly." — 
" Stint in thy prate," qv;oth Blount ; " thoa*dflt teflfj 
And listen to our lord's behest." — 
With kindling brow Lord Marmion said, — 
*' This instant be our band arrayed ; 
The river must be quickly crossed. 
That we may join Lord Surrey's host. 
If fight King James, — as well I trust. 
That fight he will, and fight he must, — 
The Lady Clare behind our lines 
Shall tarry, while the battle joins." — 

XXII. 

Hhnself he swift on horseback threw. 
Scarce to the Abbot bade adieu ; 



252 IIARMIOX. tCANTO VI. 

Par less would listen to his prayer. 
To leave behind the helpless Clare. 
Do\\Ti to the Tweed his band he drew, 
And muttered, as the flood they view, 
" The pheasant in tl* falcon s claw. 
He scarce will yield to please a daw : 
Lord Angus may the Abbot awe, 

So Clare shall bide with me." 
Then on that dangerous ford, and deep. 
Where to the Tweed Leafs eddies creep. 

He ventured desperately ; 
And not a moment will he bide, 
Till squire, or groom, before him ride; 
Headmost of all he stems the tide. 

And stems it gallantly. 
Eustace held Clare upon her horse, 

Old Hubert led her rein. 
Stoutly they braved the current's course, 
And, though far downward driven per foroa, 

The southern bank they gain ; 
Behind them, straggling, came to shore, 

As best they might, the train : 
Each o'er his head his yew-bow bore, 

A caution not in vain ; 
Deep need that day that ever)'- string. 
By wet iinharmed, should sharply ring. 
A moment then Lord Marmion staid. 
And breathed his steed, his men arrayed. 

Then forward moved his band, 
Until, Lord Surrey's rear-guard Avon, 
He halted by a cross of stone. 
That, on a hillock standing lone, 

Did all the field command. 
XXIII. 
ence might they see the full array 
either host, or deadly fray ;* 

* "Wlien the Ensjlish army, bvtheirskilful connteivinarch, wen 
TaJrly placed between King Jamps and hLj own country, th^ 
Scottish monarch resolved to fig-lit; and, settins fire to his tenia, 
descended from the ridge of Fl'odden to secure the neighbonring 
en)inence of Brankstone, on which that village is built. Thus 
the two armies met, almost without seeiiig each other. Tho 
English army ad^-anced in four divisions. Vvlien ine smoke waB 
somewhat dispersed, they perceived the Scots, who had moved 
down the hill in a similar order of battle, and in deep silence. 



CANTO VL] MAltMION. 253 

Their marshalled lines stretched east "t, 

And fronted north and south, 
And distant salutation past 

From the loud cannon mouth ; 
Not in the close successive rattJo, 
That breathes the voice of modem battle. 

But slow and far between. — 
The hillock gained. Lord Marmion staid : 
" Here, by this cross," he gently said, 

" You well may view the scene. 
Here shalt thou tariy, lovely Clare : 
O ! think of Marmion in thy prayer ! — 
Thou wilt not ? — well, — no less my care 
Shall, watchful, for thy weal prepare. — 
Yoa, Blount and Eustace, are her guard, 

With ten picked archers of my train ; 
With England if the day go hard, 

To Berwick speed amain. — 
But, if we conquer, cruel maid ! 
My spoils shall at your feet be laid. 

When here we meet again." — 
He waited not for answer there. 
And would not mark the maid's despair, 

Nor heed the discontented look 
From either squire ; but spun-ed amain, 
And, dashing through the battle-plain, 

His way to Surrey took. 

XXIT. 

" ^The good Lord Marmion, by my life ! 

Welcome to danger's hour ! 
Short greeting serves in time of strife :^ 

Thus have I ranged my power : 
Myself will rule this central host, 

Stout Stanly fronts their right. 
My sons command the vaward post. 

With Brian Tunstall, stainless knight ;* 

Lord Dacre, with his horsemen light, 

* Str Brian Tunstall, called In the romantic laii^agc of the 
time, Tunstall the Undefiled, was one of the few Englishmen of 
rank slaii i at Floddeo. Perhaps he derived his epithet of undefiled 
from his white armour and banner, as well as fiom his unstained 
loyalty and knightly &ith. His plac« of residence was Thurlan4 
Castlo, 



254 MARMION. [CANTO VI, 

Shall be in rear-ward of the fight, 
And succour those that need it most. 

Now, gallant Marmion, well I know 

Would gladly to the vanguard go ; 
Edmund, the Admiral, Tunstall there, 
With thee their chai-ge will bhthely share; 
There fight tliine own retainers too, 
Beneath De Burg, thy steward true."_ — 
" Thanks, noble Suny !" Marmion said. 
Nor further gi-eetiug there he paid ; 
But, parting like a thunderbolt. 
First in the vanguard made a halt. 

Where such a shout there rose 
Of " Marmion ! Marmion !" that the cry 
Up Flodden mountain shrilling high, 

Startled the Scottish foes. 



Blount and Fitz-Eustace rested still 
With Lady Clare upon the hill ; 
On which, (for far the day was spent,) 
The western sunbeams now were beat. 
The cry they heard, its meaning knew, 
Could plain their distant comrades view : 
Sadly to Blount did Eustace say, 
" Unworthy office here to stay ! 
No hope of gilded spurs to-day. — 
But, see ! look up — on Flodden bent. 
The Scottish foe has fired his tent." — 

And sudden, as he spoke. 
From the sharp ridges of the hill, 
All downward to the banks of Till, 

Was \VTeathed in sable smoke ; 
Volumed and vast, and rolling far, 
The cloud enveloped Scotland's war, 

As down the hill they broke ; 
Nor martial shout, nor minstrel tone, 
Announced their march ; their tread alone, 
At times one warning trumpet blown, 

At times a stifled hum. 
Told England, from his mountain-throne. 

King James did nishing come. — 



CAivTo vl: mabmion. 256 

Scarce coxild they hear, or see their foes, 
Until at weapon-point they close. — 
They close, in clouds of smolce and dust, 
"With sword-sway, and with lance's thrust ; 

And such a yell was there. 
Of sudden and portentous birth, 
As if men fought upon the earth, 

And fiends in upper air. 
Long looked the anxious squires ; their eye 
Could in the darkness nought descry. 



At length the freshening western blast 
Aside the shroud of battle cast ; 
And, first, the ridge of mingled spears 
Above the brightening cloud appears ; 
And in the smoke the pennons flew. 
As in the storm the white sea-mew. 
Then marked they, dashing broad and far. 
The broken biUows of the war, 
And plumed crests of chieftains brave, 
Floatmg like foam upon the wave ; 

But nought distinct they see : 
Wide raged the battle on the plain ; 
Spears shook, and falchions flashed amain 
Fell England's arrow-flight like rain ; 
Crests rose, and stooped, and rose again. 

Wild and disorderly. 
Amid the scene of tumult, high 
They saw Lord Marmion's falcon fly: 
And stainless Tunstall's banner white. 
And Edmund Howard's lion bright. 
Still bear them bravely in the fight ; 

Although against them come. 
Of gallant Gordons many a one, 
And many a stubborn Highlandman, 
And many a rugged Border clan. 

With Huntley, and with Home. 
41 



Par on the left, unseen the wbilcu 
Stanley broke Lennox and Aigpe*, 



256 MARMION. [CiUVTO vt 

Though there the western TDoiintaineer 
Rushed with hare hosom oji the spear, 
And flung the feeble targe aside, 
And with both hands the brojui-swnrd plied: 
*Twas vain. — But Fortune, on Ih^ 'ight. 
With fickle smile, cheered Scoiiaud s fight. 
Then fell that spotless banner white, 

The Howard's lion fell ; 
Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew 
"With wavering flight, while fiercer grew 

Around the battle yell. 
The Border slogan rent the sky ! 
A Home ! a Gordon ! was the cry ; 

Loud were the clanging blows ; 
Advanced, — forced back, — now lo\7, now high 

The pennon sunk and rose ; 
As bends the bark's mast in the gale, 
When rent are rigging, shi-ouds, and sail, 

It wavered midthe foes. 
No longer Bloimt the N'iew could boar : — 
" By heaven, and all its saints ! I swear, 

I will not see it lost ! 
Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare 
May bid your beads, and patter prayer,— 

I gallop to the host." 
And to the fray he rode amain. 
Followed by all the archer train. 
The fiery youth, with desperate chaise, 
Made, for a space, an opening large,— 

The rescued banner rose, — 
But darkly closed the war around, 
lake pine-tree, rooted from the ground, 

It sunk among the foes. 
Then Eustace mounted too ; — ^yet staid, 
As loth to leave the helpless maid. 

When, fast as sliaft can fly. 
Bloodshot his eyes, his nostrils spread. 
The loose rein dangling from his head. 
Housing and saddle bloody red, 

Lord Marmion's steed rushed by; v!^ 

And Eustace, maddening at the sight, 
A look and sign to Ckra cast. 
To mark he would return in haste. 
Then plunged into tlie flight. 



CANTO VL] 



MARMION. 257 



Ask me not what the maiden feels, 

Left in that dreadful hour alone : 
Perchance her reason stoops, or reels ; 

Perchance a courage, not her own. 

Braces her mind to desperate tone. — 
The scattered van of England wheels ; 

She only said, as loud in air 

The tumult roared, " Is Wilton there ?"-- 

They fly, or, maddened by despair, 

Fight but to die. — " Is Wilton there !" — 
'With that, straight up the hill there rode 

Two horsemen drenched with gore, 
And in their arms, a helpless load, 

A wounded knight they bore. 
His hand still strained the broken brand ; 
His arms were smeared with blood, and afuid • 
Dragged from among the horses' feet. 
With dinted shield, and helmet beat, 
The falcon-crest and plumage gone, 
Can that be haughty Marmion ! . . . . 
Young Blount his armour did imlace, 
And, gazing on his ghastly face. 

Said — *•' By Saint George, he's gone ! 
That spear- wound has our master sped. 
And see the deep cut on his head ! 

Good night to Marmion." — 
*' Unnurtured Blount ! — ^thy brawling cease : 
He opes his eyes," said Eustace ; " peace 1" — 

When, doffed his casque, he felt free air, 

Around'gan Marmion wildly stare : — 

" Where's Harry Blount .'' Fitz- Eustace where? 

Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare ! 

Redeem my pennon, — charge again ! 

Cry — ' Marmion to the rescue !' — Vain ! 

Last of my race, on battle plain 

That shout shall ne'er be heard again ! — 

Yet my last thought is England's : — ^fly. 

To Dacre bear my signet-ring ; 

Tell him his squadrons up to bring. — 
Pita- Eustace, to liord Surrey Lie : 



^8 MARMION. [CANJ-O Vt. 

Tunstall lies dead upon the field ; 

His life-blood stains the spotless shield : 

Edmund is do-svTi ; — ^my life is reft ; — 

The Admiral alone 'is left. 

Let Stanley charge with spur of fire,- 

With Chester charge, and Lancashire, 

Full upon Scotland's central host, 

Or victory and England's lost. — 

Must I bid twice ? — hence, varlets ! fly ! 

Leave Marmion here alone — to die." — 

ITiey parted, and alone he lay ; 

Clare drew her fi-om the sight away, 

Till pain wrung forth a lowly moan, 

And haK he murmured, — " Is there none. 

Of all my halls have nurst. 
Page, squire, or gioom, one cup to bring 
Of blessed water, from the spring. 

To slake my dying thirst l" — 



O, •woman ! in our hours of ease, 
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please. 
And variable as the shade 
By the light quivering asp6n made ; 
When pam and anguish wring the brow 
A ministering angel thou ! — 
Scarce were the piteous accents said, 
"When, with the Baron's casque, the maid 

To the nigh streamlet ran : 
Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears ; 
The plaintive voice alone she hears. 

Sees but the dying man. 
She stooped her by the runneFs side. 

But in abhorrence backward drew 
For, oozing from the mountain wide. 
Where raged the war, a dark red tide 

Was curdling in the streamlet blue. 
Where shall she turn ! — behold her ma^ 

A little fountain-cell, 
Where water, clear as diamond-sparky 

In a stone basin fell. 
Above, some half-worn letters say, 



CANTO VLD MARMIC 



259 



"Srinft. toearg. pilgrim, trrinfe. anlj prag. 
.-ipor. tfje. ttmti. soiH. ot ^ptil. ©105. 
5"L3a^o. btii't. t' =•:.. fO' }. anti toii!." 

She filled the helm, and back she hied. 
And with surprise and joy espied 

A Monk supporting Marmion's head ; 
A pious man, whom duty brought 
To dubious verge of battle fought, ~- 

To shrieve the dying, bless the dead. 

XXXI. 

Deep drank Lord Marmion of the -wave, 
And, as she stooped his brow to lav© — 
" Is it the hand of Clare," he said, 
** Or injured Constance, bathes my head !" 

Then, as remembrance rose, — 
" Speak not to me of shrift or prayer 1 

I must redress her woes. 
Short space, few words, are mine to spar* ; 
Forgive and listen, gentle Clare !" — 

" ^\Ias !"* she said, "■ the while, — 
O think of your immortal weal ! 
Tn vain for Constance is your zeal ; 

She died at Holy Isle. '— 

Lord Marmion started from the ground. 

As light as if he felt no wound ; 

Though in the action burst the tide, 

In torrents, from his wounded side. 

" Then it was truth !'' — ^he said — " I kneAV 

That the dark presage must be true. — 

I would the Fiend, to whom belongs 

The vengeance due to all her v^ronga. 
Would spare me but a day ! 

For wasting fire, and dying groan. 

And priests slain on the altar stone. 
Might bribe him for delay. 
It may not be ! — this dizzy trance — 
Curse on yon base marauder's lance. 
And doubly cursed my failing brand ! 
A sinful heart makes feeble hand." — 
Then, fainting, down on eartli he sunk. 
Supported by the trembling Monk. 



260 ftlARMION. [OANTO Vt 



With fruitless labour, Clara bound, 

And strove to staunch, the gushing wound : 

The Monk, with unavailing cares, 

Exhausted all the Church's prayers ; 

Ever, he said, that, close and near, 

A lady's voice was in his ear, 

And that the priest he could not hear, 

For that she ever sung, 
" In the lost battle, borne doion by the flying^ 
Where mingles war''s rattle with groans oftlie dying /" 

So the notes rung ; 
" Avoid thee. Fiend ! — ^with cruel hand, 
Shake not the dying sinner's sand ! — 
O look, my son, upon yon sign 
Of the Redeemer s grace divine ; 

O think on faith and bliss ! — 
By many a death-bed I have been, 
Aid many a sinner s parting seen. 

But never aught like this." — 
The war, that for a space did fail. 
Now trebly thundering swelled the gale, 

And — SlANLbiY ! was the cry; — 
A light on Marmion's visage spread, 

And fired his glazing eye : 
With dying hand, above his head 
He shook the fragment of his blade, 

And shouted " Victory ! — 
*' Charge, Chester, charge ! On, Stanley, onf • . • 
Were the last words of Marmion. 



By this, though deep the evening fell, 
Still rose the battle's deadly swell. 
For still the Scots, around their king, 
Unbroken, fought in desperate ring. 
Where's now their victor vaward wing, 

Where Huntley, and where Home? — 
O for a blast of that dread horn, 
On Fontarabian echoes borne, 

That to King Charles did come, 
When Rowland brave, and Olivicas, 
And every paladin and peer, 



CANTO VL] MASMTON. Sfil 

On Roncesvalles died ! 
Such blast might warn them, not in vain. 
To quit the plunder of the slain, 
And turn the doubtful day again, 

"While yet on Flodden side, 
Afar, the Royal Standard tiies, 
And round it toils and bleeds and dies, 

Our Caledonian pride ! 
In vain the wish — for far away, 
While spoil and havoc mark their -way. 
Near Sybil's Cross the plunderers stray. — 
" O Lady," cried the Monk, " away !" — 

And placed her on her steed ; 
And led her to the chapel fair, 

Of Tilmouth upon Tweed. 
There all the night they spent in prayer, 
And, at the dawn of morning, there 
She met her kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare. 



But as they left the dark'ning heath. 
More desperate grew the strife of death. 
The English shalts in voUies hailed. 
In headlong charge their horse assailed : 
Front, flank, and rear, the squadrons sweep. 
To break the Scottish circle deep, 

That fought around their king. 
But yet, though thick the shafts as snow 
Though charging knights like whirlwinds go, 
Though bill-men plie the ghastly blow, 

Unbroken was the ring ; 
The stubborn spearmen still made good 
Their dark impenetrable wood. 
Each stepping where his comrade stood, 

The instant that he fell. 
No thought was there of dastard flight ; — 
Linked in the serried phalanx tight, 
Groom fought like noble, squire like knight. 

As fearlessly and well ; 
Till utter darkness closed her wing 
O'er their thin host and wounded king. 
Then skilful Surrey's sage commands 
Led back from strife his shattered bands ; 



SsOJs MARMION. [CANTO VI 

And from the cliarge they drew, 
As mountain-waves, from wasted lands, 

Sweep back to ocean blue. 
Then did their loss his foemea know ; 
Their king, their lords, their mightiest low, 
The) melted from the field as snow, 
When streams are swoln and south winds blow, 

Dissolves in silent dew. 
Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash. 
While many a iairoken band. 
Disordered, through her currents dash, 

To gain the Scottish land ; 
To towTi and tower, to down and dale. 
To tell red Flodden's dismal tale, 
And raise the universal wail. 
Tradition, legend, tune, and song, 
Shall many an age that wail prolong : 
Still from the sire the son shall hear 
Of the stern strife, and carnage drear, 

Of Flodden's fatal field. 
Where shivered was fair Scotland's spear, 

And broken was her shield ! 



Day dawns upon the mountain's side : — 
There, Scotland ! lay thy bravest pride, 
Chiefs, knights, and nobles, many a one ; 
The sad survivors all are gone. — 
View not that corpse mistrustfully, 
Defaced and mangled though it be ; 
Nor to yon Border castle high 
Look northward with upbraiding eye ; 

Nor cherish hope in vain, 
That, journeying tar on foreign strand, 
The Royal Pilgrim to his land 

May yet return again. 
He saw the wreck his rs^hness wrought ; 
Reckless of life, he desperate fought. 

And fell on Flodden plain :* 

* There can be no doubt that King James ffU in the battle «* 
Flodden. He was killed, says the curious Freiioh Gazette, within 
a Uincc's length of the Earl of Surrey ; and the same account adds, 
{bat none of his division were otade prisoners, though many wer« 




He sa-ViT tlie -wreck: Ms raslirLess^wro^i|iLt ■. 
E.ccMess of Hie. lie desperate fougjit. 
And fell on Flodden plain; 



cjcno VL2 



MARMION. 263 



And well in death his trusty brand. 
Firm clenched within liis manly hand, 

Beseemed the monarch slain. 
But, O ! how changed since yon blythe night I— 
Gladly I turn me from the sight, 

Unto my tale again. 



Short is my tale : — Fitz-Eustace' care 

A pierced and mangled body bare 

To moated lilchfielas iofty pile ; 

And there, beneath the southern aisle, 

A tomb, with Gothic sculpture fair. 

Did long Lord Marmion's image bear. 

(Now vainly for its site you look ; 

TVas levelled, when fanatic Brook 

The fair cathedral stormed and took ;* 

But, thanks to heaven, and good Saint Chad, 

A ^erdon meet the spoiler had !) 

There erst was martial Marmion found, 

His feet upon a couchant hound, 

His hands to heaven upraised ; 
And all around, on scutcheon rich. 
And tablet carved, and fretted niche. 

His arms and feats were blazed. 
And yet, though all was carved so fair, 
And priests for Marmion breathed the prayer. 
The last Lord Marmion lay not there. 
From Ettrick woods, a peaiiant swain 
Followed his lord to Fiodden plain,r— 

killed ^ a clrciimstance that testifies the desperation of theli' rosla- 
tance. The Scottish historians record many of the idle reports 
T^hich passed among the vulgar of th<fir Jay. Home was accused, 
by the popidar voice, not only of failing to supjMirt the king, but 
even of having carried him out of the field, and murdered him. 
Other reports pave a still more romantic turn to the kmg's fate, 
and averred, that Jamais, weary of greatness after ;he carnage 
among his nobles, had gone on» pilgnm-.u<e to merit absolm ion for 
the death of his father, aua tlie breach of his o.ith of amity to 
Henrv. 

* this storm of Lichfield cathedral, which ha.1 been garrisoned 
on the part of tive king, took ^'MC6 in tha great civil war. Lord 
Brook, who, with Sir John GiU, comm.-iuiicd the assailants, was 
shot mth a musket half throiu?h the visor of his helmet. The 
tovalists remarked, that hf. ^as kilJod by a shot fired from St 
Chad's Cathedral, and upon Sr Chads Oay, and receii-ed his death- 
wound iu the very eye with which, he had iaid, he hoped to see 
ftte Tuiu of all the cathedrals ia EuKlitud. 



264 MARMION. CCANTO VI 

One of those flowers, whom plaintive lay 
In Scotland mourns as " wede away :" 
Sore wounded, Sybil's Cross he spied, 
And dragged him to its foot, and died. 
Close by" the noble Marmion's side. 
The spoilers stripped and gashed the Siain, - 
And thus their corpses were mista'en ; 
And thus, in the proud Baron's tomb, 
The Jowljr woodsman took the room. 



Less easy task it were, to show 
Lord Marmion s nameless grave, and low. 
They dug his grave e'en where he lay, 

But every mark is gone ; 
Time's wasting hand has done away 
The simple Cross of Sybil Grey, 
And broke her font of stone : 
But yet from out the little hill 
Oozes the slender springlet stilL 

Oft halts the stranger there, 
For thence may best his curious eye 
The memorable field descry ; 
And shepherd boys repair 
To seek the water-flag and rush. 
And rest them by the hazel bush, 

And plait their garlands fair ; 
Nor dream they sit upon the grave, 
That holds the bones of Marmion brave. — 
When thou shalt find the little hill, _ 
With thy heart commune, and be still. 
If ever, in temptation strong, 
Thou left' St the right path for the wrong ; 
If every devious step, thus trode, 
Still led thee farther from the road ; 
Dread thou to speak presumptuous doom, 
On noble Marmion's lowly tomb ; 
But say, " He died a gallant knight. 
With sword in hand, for England's right.'| 

XXXVIII. 

I do not rh}Tne to that dull elf, 
Who cannot image to himself, 



CANTO VI. 1 MARMION. 265 

That all through Flodden's dismal night, 

Wilton was foremost in the fight ; 

That, when brave Surrey's steed was slain, 

'Twas Wilton mounted him again ; 

'Twas Wilton's brand that deepest hewed, 

Amid the spearmen's stubborn wood : 

Unmanned by Hollinshed or Hall, 

He was the living soul of all ; 

That, after fight, his faith made plain, 

He won his rank and lands again ; 

And charged his old paternal shield 

With bearings won on Flodden field.— 

Nor sing I to that simple maid. 

To whom it must in terms be said. 

That king and kinsmen did agree, 

To bless fair Clara's constancy ; 

Who cannot, unless I relate, 

Paint to her mind the bridal's state ; 

That Wolsey's voice the blessing spoke ; 

More, Sands, and Denny, passed the joke ; 

That bluff King Hal the curtain drew. 

And Catherine's hand the stocking threw; 

And afterwards, for many a day, 

That it was held enough to say, 

In blessing to a wedded pair, 

" Love they like Wilton and like Clare !" 



L'ENVOY. 

TO THE READER. 



Why then a final note prolong. 

Or lengthen out a closing song, 

Unless to bid the gentles speed. 

Who long have listed to my rede V— 

To Statesmen grave, if such may deigr 

To read the Minstrel's idle strain, 

Sound head, clean hand, and piercing wiu 

And patriotic heart — as Pitt ! 

A garland for the hero's crest. 

And twined by her he loves the best 

• Used generally for tale, or discourat, 
M 



26G MARMION. [(TANTO VJ 

To evsry lovely lady bright, 

What can I wish but faithful knight 1 

To every faithful lover too, 

What can I wish but lady true 1 

And knowledge to the studious sage ; 

And pillow soft to head of age. 

To thee, dear schoolboy, whom my lay 

Has cheated of thy kour of play, 

Light task, and merry holiday ! 

To all, to each, a fair good night, 

And pleasing dreams, and slumbers lig»« . 



CAifTO L] THE LADY OF THE LAHJE. 

XIX. 

A cliiefjiam's daughter seemed the maid ; 
Her satin snood, Tier silken plaid. 
Her golden brooch, such birth betray'd. 
And seldom was a snood amid 
Such wild luxuriant ringlets hidj 
Whose glossy black to shame might biing 
The plumage of the raven's wing; 
And seldom o'er a breast so fair, 
Mantled a plaid with modest care, 
And never brooch the folds combined 
Above a heart more good and kind. 
Her kindness and her worth to spy, 
You need but gaze on Ellen's eye ; 
Not Katrine, in her mirror blue, 
Gives back the shaggy banks more true, 
Than every free-born glance confessed 
The guileless movemeuts of her breast; 
Whether joy danced in her dark eye, 
Or woe or pity claimed a sigh. 
Or filial love was glowing there. 
Or meek devotion poured a prayer. 
Or tale of injury called forth 
The indignant spirit ol the north. 
One only passion, unrevealed. 
With maiden pride the maid concealed. 
Yet not less purely felt the flame ;•— 
Oh need I teU. that passion's name? 

XX. 

Impatient of the silent horn, 

Now on the gale her voice was bome;- 

*' Father !" she cried — the rocks around 

Loved to prolong the gentle sound. 

A while she paused, no answer came — 

"Malcolm, was thine the blast?" the 

Less resolutely uttered fell. 

The echoes could not catch the swefl. 

" A stranger I," the Huntsman said. 

Advancing from the hazel shade. 

The maid alarmed, with hasty oar, 

Pushed her light shallop from the shoic* 



279 



2bO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. iUMTO I 

And, when a space was gained between. 
Closer she drew her bosom's screen ; 
(So forth the startled swan would swing, 
So turn to prane his ruffled wing.) 
Then safe, though fluttered and amazed. 
She paused, and on the stranger gazed. 
Not his the form, nor his the eye, 
That youthful maidens wont to fly. 

XXI. 

On his bold visage middle age 

Had slightly pressed its signet sage, 

Yet had not quenched the open truth. 

And fiery vehemence of youth ; 

Forward and frolic glee was there. 

The will to do, the soul to dare. 

The sparkling glance, soon blown to fire^ 

Of hasty love, or headlong ire. 

His limbs were cast in manly mould, 

For hardy sports, or contest bold; 

And though in peaceful garb arrayed. 

And weaponless, except his blade, 

His stately mien as well implied 

A high-born heart, a martial pride, 

As if a baron's crest he wore. 

And sheathed in armour trod the shore. 

Slighting the petty need he showed. 

He told of his benighted road : 

His ready speech flowed fair and free. 

In phrase of gentlest courtesy; 

Yet seemed that tone and gesture bland 

Less used to sue than to command 



xxir. 
A while the maid the stranger eyed. 
And, reassured, at last replied. 
That highland halls were open still 
To wildered wanderers of the hill. 
" Nor think you unexpected come 
To yon lone isle, our desert home, 
Before the heath had lost the dew. 
This mom, a couch was pulled for yott | 



CANTO L] THE LADY OF THE LAKB. 281 

On yonder mountain's purple head 
Have ptarmigan and heath-cock bled. 
And our broad nets have swept the mere. 
To funiish forth your evening cheer." 
" Now, by the rood, my lovely maid. 
Your courtesy has erred," he said ; 
* No right have I to claira^ misplaced, 
The welcome of expected guest. 
A wanderer, here by fortune tost, 
My way, my friends, my courser lost, 
I ne'er before, believe me, fair, 
Have ever di-awn your mountain air, 
Till on this lake's romantic strand. 
I found a fay in fairy land." • 



" I well believe," the maid replied. 

As her light skiiT approached the side — 

" I well believe, that ne'er before 

Your foot has trod Loch- Katrine's shore; 

But yet, as far as yesternight. 

Old Allan-bane foretold your plight — 

A grey-haired sire, whose eye intent 

Was on the visioned future bent.* 

He saw your steed, a dappled grey. 

Lie dead beneath the birchen way; 

Painted exact your form and mien. 

Your hunting suit of Lincoln green. 

That tasseird horn so gaily gilt. 

That falchion's crooked blade and hilt. 

That cap with heron's plumage trim. 

And yon two hounds so dark and grim. 

He bade that all should ready be, 

To gi-ace a guest of fair degree ; 

But light I held his prophecy. 

And deemed it was my father's horn. 

Whose echoes o'er the lake were borne. 



• A superstitious bebef in second right prevailed in ihe Hlflv 
lands : it was called iu Gielic TasUitaraufjh, from Taith^ an ua 
real or shadowy appearance ; and those possessed of the faculty an 
called Tatihatrtn, which may be aptly tra istuied vistonariea 
They pretended to see Wsious, and to be inforui'-d of future erent* 
which obtaiaed for tbem an extraordinary iuflueuce ov«t tbfiil 
eountcymeo. 



JSoa THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [ CANTO ^ 

xxiy. 
The Stranger smiled : — " Since to your homo, 
A destined errant knight I come, 
Announced by prophet sooth and old. 
Doomed, doubtless, for achievement bold, 
I'll lightly front each high emprize. 
For one kind glance of those bright eyes ; 
Permit me, first, the task to guide 
Your fairy frigate o'er the tide." 
The maid, with smile suppressed and sly 
The toil unwonted saw him try ; 
■ For seldom, sure, if e'er before, 
His noble hand had grasped an oar : 
Yet with main strength his strokes he drew, 
And o'er the lake the shallop iiew ; 
With heads erect and whimpering cry, 
The hounds behind their passage ply." 
Nor frequent does the bright oar break 
The darkening mirror of the lake, 
Until the rocky isle they reach. 
And moor their shallop on the beach. 

XXV. 

The Stronger viewed the shore around ; 
'Twas all so close with copse-wood bound. 
Nor track nor pathway might declare 
That human foot frequented there, 
Until the mountain-maiden showed 
A clambering unsuspected road. 
That winded through the tangled screen, 
And opened on a narrow green, 
Where weeping birch and wliow round 
W^ith their long fibres swept the ground* 
Here, for retreat in dangerous hour. 
Some chief had framed a rustic bower.* 

XXVI. 

It was a lodge of ample size. 

But strange of structure and device ; 

* In these turbulent times the Celtic chieftain had usnally mom 

place of retreat tor the hour of necessity, which, as circi 
would admit, was a tower, a cavern, or a rustic hut ii 
and secludod situation. 



OAirro X.2 the lady op the iake. 283 

Of such materials, as around 

The workman's hand had readiest found. 

Lopped of their boughs, their hoar tninks bared, 

And by the hatchet rudely squared. 

To gi ve the walls theii destined height. 

The sturdy oak and ash unite ; 

While moss, and clay, and leaves combined 

To fence each crevice from the wind. 

The lighter pine-trees, over- head. 

Their slender length for rafters spread. 

And ^vithe^ed heath and rushes dry 

Supplied a russet canopy. 

Due westward, fronting to the green, 

A rural portico was seen. 

Aloft on native pillars home, 

Of mountain fir with bark unshorn, 

Where Ellen's hand had taught to twine 

The ivy and Idajan vine. 

The clematis, the favoured flower, 

Which boasts the name of virgin-bower, 

And every hardy plant could bear 

Loch- Katrine's keen and searching air. 

An instant in this porch she staid, 

And gaily to the stranger said, 

" On heaven and on thy lady call, 

And enter the enchanted haJl I' 



" My hope, my heaven, my trust must be. 

My gentle guide, in following thee." 

He crossed the threshold — and a clang 

Of angry steel that instant i-ang. 

To nis bold brow his spirit rushed. 

But soon for vain alarm he blushed. 

When on the floor he saw displayed, 

Cause of the din, a naked blade 

Dropped from the sheath, that careless Sxcag 

Uprn a stag's huge antlers swung ; 

For all around, the walls to grace, 

Hung trophies of the fight or chase 

A target there, a bugle acre, 

A battle-axe, a hunting spear. 



284 THK LADY OF THE LAKB. [CANTO I. 

And broad-swords, bows, and arrows stole. 
With the tusked trophies of the boar. 
Here grins the wolf as when he died. 
And there the wild-cat's brindled hide 
']'he frontlet of the elk adorns, 
Or mantles o'er the bison's horns; 
Pennons and Hags defaced and stained. 
That blackening streaks of blood retained, 
And deer-skins, dappled, dun, and white, 
With otter's fur and seal's unite, 
In rude and uncouth tapestry aii, 
To garnish forth the sylvan hall. 

XXVITI. 

The wondering Stranger round him gazed, 

And next the fallen weapon raised ; 

Few were the arms whose sinewy strength 

Sufficed to stretch it forth at length. 

And as the brand he poised and swayed, 

" I nevei knew but one," he said. 

" Whose stalwart arm might brook to wield 

A blade like this in battle field." 

She sighed, then smiled and took the word ; 

" You see the guardian champion's sword : 

As light it trembles in his baud. 

As in my grasp a hazel wand ; 

My sire's tall form might grace the part 

Of Ferragus, or Ascabart ;*■ 

But in the absent giant's hold 

Are women now, and menials old." 

XXIX. 

The mistress of the mansion camo, 

Mature of age, a, graceful dame ; 

Whose easy step and stately port 

Had well become a princely court. 

To whom, though more than kindred know. 

Young Ellen gave a mother's due. 

Meet welcome to her guest she made, 

And every courteous rite was paid, 

* The first of these eiants is well known to the admirer* of 
ArioBlo, by the ni-me ol Ferraii He was an antag'-iiist of Orlando* 
and W.-18 slain by him i-i single combat. Ascapart, or A^cabaii, 
makes a very material ti^ure ui tbs History ol Be\is uf Hamptoa< 
hv wboio tie was conquered. 



CAirrO I.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 285 

That "hospitality could claim. 

Though all unasked his birth and name.* 

Such then the reverence to a guest, 

That fellest foe might join the feast, 

And from his deadliest foeman's door 

Unquestion'd turn, the banquet o'er. 

At length his rank the Stranger names — 

"• The knight of Snowdoun, James Fitz-James ; 

liord of a barren heritage. 

Which his brave sires, trora age to age, 

By their good swords had held with toil ; 

fi^is sire had fallen in such turmoil. 

And he, God wot, was forced to stand 

Oft for his right with blade in hand. 

This rnoming with Lord Moray's train 

He chased a stalwart stag in vain, 

Outstripped his comrades, missed the deer. 

Lost his good steed, and wandered here." 

XXX. 

Fain would the Knight in turn require 
The name and state of Ellen's sire ; 
Well showed the elder lady's mien, 
That courts and cities she had seen ; 
Ellen, though more her looks displayed 
The simple grace of sylvan maid. 
In speech and gesture, form and face, 
Shoved she was come of gentle race; 
'Twere strange in ruder rank to find 
Such looks, such manners, and such mind. 
Each hint the Knight of Snowdoun gave. 
Dame Margaret heard with silence grave ; 
Or Ellen, innocently gay. 
Turned all inquiry light away, 
" Wierd women we ! by dale and down. 
We dwell afar from tower and town. 
We stem the Hood, we ride the blast. 
On wandering knights our spells we cast ; 



* This refers to the practice which existed of never asking a 
■trari'.er his n.ime or lineage, before he had taken refreshmeat ; 
bs the ffuds w hich were so frequent among them, might have e2e- 
eluded the guest fiom the benefit of the assistance he otood io 
i«a«d of, if a contruT- rule bad been allowed. 



286 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. fC \rrrO t 



While viewless minstrels touch the string, 
'Tis thirs our charmed rhj-mes we sing." 
Sho sang, and still a harp unseen 
Filled up the symphony between.* 



XXXI. 



" Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er. 

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; 
Dream of battled fields no more. 

Days of danger, nights of waking. 
In om- isle's enchanted hall, 

Haiius unseen thy couch are strewing, 
Fairy strains of music fall, 

Every sense in slumber dewing. 
Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er. 
Dream of fighting fields no more ; 
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking. 
Mom of toil, nor night of waking. 

** No rude sound shall reach thine ear. 

Armour's clang, or war-steed champiag, 
Trump nor pibroch summon here 

Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. 
Yet the lark's shrill fife may come 

At the daybreak from the fallow, 
And the bittern sound his drum. 

Booming from the sedgy shallow. 
Ruder sounds shall none be near. 
Guards nor warders challenge here, 
Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing. 
Shouting clans or squadrons stamping." 

XXXII. 

She paused — then, blushing, led the lay 
To grace the stranger of the day ; 
Her mellow notes awhile prolong 
The cadence of the flowing song. 
Till to her lips in measured frame 
The minstrel verse spontaneous camo. 

» The highlanders delighted much in music, and harpers n«i« 
received as welcome guests, iu ta* highlands of Scot' and, unit 
the end of the sixteenth centnry. 




nir> hall UTiB rLetu-od- Qti? stcaarfork l->ed 
Was ttiere ox inouTitam heatlier spread, 
Where oft a hundred. o\xesLs Iiad lain, 
AtuI rlrnaniPd their forest eporls agHaiir. 



CANTO I.J THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 287 

SONG — continued. 
" Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done, 

While our slumbrous spells assail yo. 
Dream not, with the rising sun, 

Bugles here shall sound reveille. 
Sleep ' the deer is in his den ; 

SI 2op I thy hounds are by thee lying , 
Sleep I nor dream in yonder glen, 

How thy gallant steed lay dying. 
Huntsman, rest I thy chase is done, 
Think nojt of the rising sun. 
For at dawning to assail ye, 
Here no bugles sound reveille." 

xxxm. 

The hill was cleared— the Stranger's bed 

Was there of mountain heather spread, 

Where oft an hundred guests had lain, 

Ajid dreamed their forest sports again. 

But vainly did the heath-flower shed 

Its moorland fragrance round his head ; 

Not Ellen's spell had lulled to rest 

The fever of his troubled breast. 

In broken dreams the image rose 

Of varied perils, pains, and woes 

His steed now flounders in the brake, 

Now sinks his barge upon the lake ; 

Now leader of a broken host. 

His standard falls, his honour's lost. 

Then — from my couch may heavenly might 

Chase that worst phantom of the iffght ! — 

Again returned the scenes of youth, 

Of confident, undoubting truth ; 

Again his soul he interchanged 

With friends whose hearts were long estranged ; 

They come, in dim procession led. 

The cold, the faithless, and the dead ; 

As warm each hand, each brow as gay, 

As if they parted yesterday. 

And doubt distracts him at the view, 

Oh, were his senses false or true ! 



288 THE LAIJV CJ- ii:-- UAICK 

Dreamed he of death, or broken yow, 
Or is it all a vision now I 



At length, with Ellen in a grove, 

He seemed to walk, and speak of love; 

She listened with a blush and sigh ; 

His suit was warm, his hopes were high. 

He sought her yielded liand to clasp, 

And a cold gaViUtlet met uia grasp ; 

The phautom's sex was chauged and gone. 

Upon its head a helmet shone; 

Slowly enlarged to giant size, 

With darkened cheek and threatening eyea, 

The grisly visage, stern and hoar. 

To Ellen still a likeness bore. 

He woke, and, ];)auting with affright. 

Recalled the vision of the night. 

The hearth's decaying brands were red, 

And deep and dusky lustre shed. 

Half showing, half concealing all 

The uncouth trophies of the hall. 

Mid those the stranger fixed his eye ^ 

Where that huge falchion hung on high. 

And thoughts on thoughts, a countless throng, 

Rushed, chasing countless thoughts along, 

Until, the giddy whirl to cure, 

He rose, and sought the moonshine pure. 

XXXV. 

The wild rose, egjantine, and broom, 
Wafted around their rich perfume ; 
The birch-trees wept in fragrant bsilm, 
The aspens slept beneath the calm ; 
The silver light, with quivering glance, 
Played on the water's still expanse — 
Wild were the heart whose passion's sway 
Could rage beneath the sober ray ! 
He felt its calm, that warrior guest, 
While thus he communed with his breast :-- 
*' Why is it at each turn I trace 
Some memory of that exiled race ? 



CANTO II.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 

Can I not mountain maiden spy. 
But she must bear the Douglas eye? 
Can I not view a highland brand, 
But it must match the Douglas hand ? 
Can I not frame a fevered dream, 
B)U still the Douglas is the theme ?-- ~ 
I'll dream no more — by manly mind 
Not even in sleep is vnll resigned. 
My midnight orison said o'er, 
ni turn to rest, and dream no more.** 
His midnight orison he told, 
A prayer with every bead of gold. 
Consigned to heaven his cares and vroes, 
And sank in undisturbed repose ; 
Until the heath-cock shrilly crew, 
And morning dawned on Ben- venue. 



CANTO SECOND. 



At mom the black-cock trims his jettj- vring, 

'Tis morning prompts the linnet's blythest lay, 
All nature's children feel the matin spring 

Of life revi%'ing, with renving day ; 

And while yon little bark glides down the b»y. 
Wafting the stranger on his way again. 

Mom's genial influence roused a Minstrel groy,* 
And sweetly o'er the lake was heard thy strain, 
Mix'd with the sounding harp, oh white-haireti Allatt 
bane! 



^* Not faster yonder rowers' might 
Flings from their oars the spray, 

• HigWrind chieftains, to a late period, retained in their servict 

the bird, as a family officer The bard was the hinturian and 

fmealogiat of the clan, besides being the domestic niusicjau o) the 

«)uef, uid •ometimes the preceptor of the ) oung laird. 

N 



290 THE LADY OP THE LAKE. [CANTO D 

Not faster yonder rippling bright, 

That tracks the shallop's course in light, 

Melts in the lake away, 
Tlian men from memory erase 
The benefits of former oays ; 
Then, Stranger, go ! good speed the whilOt 
Nor think again of the lonely isle. 
" IT'oh place to thee in royal court, 

High place in battled line, 
G«>u<l liawk and hound for sylvan sport, 
W'here Beauty sees the brave rvdort. 

The honoured meed be thine ! 
True bo thy sword, thy triend sincere, 
Thy lady constant, kind, auci dear, 
And lost in love's and friendship s smile, 
Be memory of the lonely isle. 



SONG! — continued. 

** But if beneath yon southern sky 

A plaided stranger roam, 
Whose drooping crest and stifled sii^h. 
And sunken cheek and heavy eye. 

Pine for his highland home ; 
Then, warrior, then be thine to show 
The care that soothes a wanderer's woe ; 
Remember then thy hap ere while 
A stranger in the lonely isle. 

*' Or if on life's uncertain main 

Mishap shall mar thy sail ; 
If faithful, wise, and brave in vain, 
Woe, want, and exile thou sustain 

Beneath the fickle gale ; 
Waste not a sigh on fortune changed, 
On thankless courts, or friends estranged. 
But come where kindred worth shall smile 
To greet thee in the lonely isle." 



Aa died the sounds upon the tide, 
Tlte shallop reached toe main-land sid^ 



OANTO n.] 



THE LADY OF THE LAKK. 29' 



And ere his onward vs-ay he took, 

The Stranger cast a lingering look. 

Where easily his eye might reach 

riie Harper on the islet beach. 

Reclined against a blighted tree, 

As wasted, grey, and worn as he. 

To minstrel meditation given. 

His reverend brow was raised to heavm, 

As from the rising sun to claim 

A sparkle of inspiring flame. 

His hand, reclined upon the wire, 

Seemed watching the awakening firo ; 

So still he sate, as those who wait 

Till judgment speak the doom of fate ; 

So still, as if no breeze might daro 

To lift one lock of hoary hair ; 

So still as life itself were fled, 

In the last sound his harp had sped. 

V. 
Upon a rock with lichens wild, 
Beside him Ellen sate and smiled. 
Smiled she to see the stately drake 
Lead forth his fleet upon the lake, 
While her vexed spaniel, from the bcaohf. 
Bayed at the prize beyond his reach ? 
Yet tell me then the maid who knows, 
Why deepened on her cheek the rose jC» 
Forgive, forgive, Fidelity ! 
Perchance the maiden smiled to see 
5fon parting lingerer wave adieu. 
And stop and turn to wave anew ; 
And, lovely ladies, ere your ire 
Condemn the heroine of my lyre. 
Show me the fair would scorn to spy, 
And prize such conquest of her eye I 

VI. 

While yet he loitered on the spot. 
It seemed as Ellen marked him not, 
But when he turned him to the glade, 
One courteous parting sign she made} 
And after, oft the knight would say. 
That not when prize of festal day 



292 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO B 

Was dealt him by the brightest fair, 

Who e'er wore jewel in her hair, 

So highly did his bosom swell. 

As at that simple mute farewell. 

Now with a trusty mountain eiiide. 

And his dark stag-hounds by his side. 

He parts; — the maid, unconscious still, 

Watched him wind slowly round the hill ; 

But when his stately form was hid. 

The guardian in her bosom chid — 

" Thy Malcolm ! vain and seltish maid V* 

'Twas thus upbraiding conscience said ; 

" Not so had Malcolm idly hung 

On the smooth phrase of southeni tongue ; 

Not so had Malcolm strained his eye 

Another step than thine to spy." 

" Wake, Allan-bane !" aloud she cried, 

To the old Minstrel by her side, 

" Arouse thee from thy moody dream 1 

I'll give thy harp heroic theme. 

And warm thee with a noble name ; 

Pour forth the glory of the Graeme."* 

Scarce from her lip the word had rushed, 

WTien deep the conscious mai<len blushed, 

For of his clan, in hall and bower, 

Young Malcolm Grieme was held the flower. 

VII. 

The Minstrel Avaked his harp — three times 

Arose the well-known martial chimes. 

And thrice their high heroic pride 

In melancholy murmurs died. 

" Vainly thou bidd'st, oh noble maidP 

Claspii\g his withered hands, he said, 

" Vainly thou bidd'st me wake the strain. 

Though all unwont to bid in vain, 

» This ancient and powerful family held e.^tensive poGseasiom 
In the counties of U'liioartnn and Stirling. Pew faniilieii can bxiat 
of innre hiatorical renown, havini; claim to three vf the nmiit r9> 
marknble charju'ters in the Scottf^h annals. 8ir Jnhn the GriPine, 
the fiiithful and undaiintfd compatriot ot Wallace, tvhn tull in the 
unfortunali- field of Falkirk, in ISS'S. Tl»e celebrated Marquig of 
Montroae, in whom De Ketz saw realized his abstract idea of the 
heroes of autiquity. And, John Gruhame of Claveihoiue, Viscount 
»f Dundee, who fell in the arms of victory. 



CAICTO n.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 293 

Alas ! than mine a mightier hand 

Has tuned my haq), my strings has spanned; 

I touch the chords of joy, but low 

And mournful answer notes of woe ; 

And the proud march which victors tread, 

Sinks in the wailing for the dead. 

Oh well for me, if mine alone 

That dirge's deep prophetic tone I 

If, as my tuneful fathers said. 

This harp, which erst Saint Modan swajed. 

Can thud its master's fate foretell. 

Then welcome bo the minstrel's knell ! 

VIII. 

" But ah ! dear lady, thus it sighed 

The eve thy sainted mother died ; 

And such the sounds which, while I strov* 

To wal\e a lay of war or love. 

Came marring all the festal mirth, 

Appallitig me who gave them birth. 

And, disobedient to nn' call, 

Wailed loud through Bothwell's bannered ball, 

Ere Douglases to ruin driven. 

Were exiled from their native heaven.* 

Oh ! if yet worse mishap and woe 

My master's house must undergo. 

Or aught but weal to Ellen fair, 

Brood in these accents of despair, 

No future bard, sad harp ! shall fling 

Triumph or rapture from thy string; 

One short, one final strain shall flow. 

Fraught with unutterable woe, 

Then shivered shall thy fragments lie. 

Thy master cast him do^vll and die." 

» The downfall of the Douglases of the house of An^t, dllt'Aig 
the leigii of James V 1528, U the event alluded to in the text, 
nie Earl of An^is, had in;irried the queen Dowager, and availing 
liimKelf of the right which he thus arquired, as well as of bia nx- 
t«n»ive power, he retjuned the king in a sort of tutelage, which 
app/'oarhed very near to captivity. This treatment so exaxperatei 
the youthful and '•hivalrous king that when heettected hi« e8«ap« 
to 8'tirliM)j Ca«t!e, he swore in his anger — thai no Dnufjla-i should, 
while he lived aud reieried, finn favour or coiintenaiine in Scoilana 
— and he followed out hist revenge, with such an inveterate- hatred, 
that even their nearest frienilis in the remotest parts of Scotland 
tliirst not entertain them uuIims under the strictest aud closest 
disffuue. 



294 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO B. 
IX. 

Soothing she answered him, " Assuage, 

Mine honoured friend, the fears of age ; 

All nnelodies to thee are known, 

That harp has rung, or pipe has blown, 

In lowland vale, or highland glen. 

From Tweed to Spey — what marvel, then, 

At times, unbidden notes should rise, 

Confusedly bound in memory's ties. 

Entangling, as they rush along, 

The war-march with the funeral song? 

Small ground is now for boding fear ; 

Obscure, but safe, we rest us here. 

My sire, in native virtue great, 

Resigning lordship, lands, and state, 

Not then to fortune more resigned. 

Than yonder oak might give the wind ; 

The graceful foliage storms may reave, 

The noble stem they cannot grieve. 

For me" — she stooped, and, looking round. 

Plucked a blue hare-bell from the ground, 

" For me, whose memory scarce conveys 

An image of more splendid days. 

This little flower, that loves the lea. 

May well my simple emblem be ; 

It diinks heaven's dew as blithe as rose 

That in the King's ovra garden grows. 

And when I place it in my hair, 

Allan, a bard is bound to swear 

He ne'er saw coronet so fair." 

Then playfully the chaplet wild 

She wreathed in her dark locks, and 8milod< 



Her smile, her speech, with winning STVay, 
Wiled the old harper's mood away. 
With such a look as hermits throw 
When angels stoop to soothe their woe, 
He gazed, till fond regret and pride 
Ihrilled to a tear, then thus replied : — 
'*■ Loveliest and best ! thou little know'st 
The rank, the honours thou hast lost I 



CANTO IL] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 295 

Oh might I live to see thee grace, 
In ScotJand's court, thy birthright place, 
To see my favourite's step advance, 
1 he lightest in the courtly dance. 
The cause of every gallant's sigh. 
And leading star of every eye, 
And theme of every minstrel's art, 
The Lady oi the Bleeding Heart 1"* 



" Fair dreams are these," the maiden crisd, 
(Light was her accent, vet she sighed,) 
" Yet is this mossy rock to me 
Worth splendid chair and canopy ; 
Nor would my footstep spring more gay 
In courtly dance than blithe strathspey, 
Nor half so pleased mine ear incline 
To royal minstrel's lay as thine ; 
And then for suitors proud and high, 
To bend before my conquering eye, 
Thou, flattering bard ! thyself wilt say. 
That grim Sir Roderick owns its sway. 
The Saxon scourge, Clan- Alpine's pride, 
The terror of Loch-Lomond's side, 
Would, at my suit, thou Icnow'st, delay 
A Lennox foray — for a day." 

XII. 
The ancient bard his glee repressed : 
" 111 hast thou chosen theme for jest ! 
For who, through all this western wild, 
Named black Sir Roderick e'er, and smiled ? 
In Holy- Rood a knight he slew;'}* 
I saw, when back the dirk he drew. 
Courtiers give place before the stride 
Of the undaunted homicide ; 
And since, though outlawed, hath his hand 
Full sternly kept his mountain land. 

• The well-knowTi cogTiizance of the Doiisrlas family. 

•f This was no uiicnmmnn occurrence in the court of Soottand) 
■ad eveH the roya\ presence scarcely restrained the ferocious feudf 
which were the perpetual source of bloodshed among the Scottisb 
nobility. 



296 TUE LADY OF THE hAKK CCANTO SL 

Who else dared give — ah ! woe the day, 

That I such hated truth should say— 

The Douglas, like a stricken deer, 

Diso^v^led by every uoble ])eer, 

Eveu the iTide refuge we have here 

Alas, this wild maraudihg chief 

Alone might hazard our relief, 

And now thy maiden charms expand, 

Looks for his guerdon in thy hand ; 

Full soon may dispensation sought. 

To back his suit, from Rome be brought. 

Then, though an exile on the hill, 

Thy father, as the Douglas, still 

Be held in reverence and fear. 

But though to Roderick thou'rt so dear. 

That thou might' st guide with silken thread 

Slave of thy will, this chieftain dread ; 

Yet, oh loved maid, thy mirth refrain I 

Thy hand is on a lion's mane." 

XIII. 
•' Minstrel," the maid replied, and high 
Her father's soul glanced from her eye, 
" My debts to Roderick's house I know : 
All that a mother could bestow. 
To Lady Margaret's care I owe, 
Bince first an orphan in the wild 
She sorrowed otr her sister's child 
To her brave chieftain son, from ire 
Of Scotland's king who shrouds my sire, 
A deeper, holier debt is owed ; 
And, could I pay it with my blood, 
Allan ! Sir Roderick should command 
My blood, my life — but not my hand. 
Rather will Ellen Douglas dwell 
A votaress in Maronan's cell ;* 
Rather through realms beyond the sea, 
Seeking the world s cold charitj-, 
WTiere ne'er was spoke a Scottish word. 
And ne er the name of Douglas heard, 

* The parLsh of Kilniaronock, at the eastern extremity of Lodki 
Lomond, derives its name from a cell or eliapel, dedicated to Saint 
Mariinoch, or Marouan, alout whose sanctity very little 's UOW 
remembered. 



CANTO II.T THB LADT OF THE LAKE. W« 

An outcast pilgrim will she rove, 
Than wed the man she cannot love. 

XIV. 

** Thou shak'st, good friend, thy tresses grey«- 
That pleading look, what can it say- 
But what I own ? — I grant him hrave. 
But wild as Bracklinn's thundering wave ;* 
And generou£« — save vindictive mood. 
Or jealous transport chafe his blood : 
I grant him true to friendly band, 
As his claymore is to his hand : 
But oh ! that very blade of steel 
More mercy for a foe would feel: 
I grant him liberal, to fling 
Among his clan the wealth they bring. 
When back by lake and glen they wind, 
And in the Lowland leave behind. 
Where once some pleasant hamlet stood, 
A mass of ashes slaked with blood. 
The hand, that for my father fought, 
I honour, as his daughter ought ; 
But can I clasp is reeking red. 
From peasants slaughtered in their shed? 
No ! wildly while his virtues gleam, 
They make his passions darker seem, 
And flash along his spirit high, 
Like lightning o'er the midnight sky. 
While yet a child — and children know. 
Instinctive taught, the friend and foe — 
1 shuddered at his brow of gloom. 
His shadowy plaid, and sable plume ; 
A maiden grown, I ill could bear 
His haughty mien and lordly air ; 
But, if thou join'st a suitor's claim, 
In serious mood, to Roderick's name, 
I thrill with anguish ! or, if e'er 
A Douglas knew the word, with fear. 
To change such odious theme were best — 
What think'st thou of our stranger guest ?" 

• This is a beautiful cascade made at a place called the Bridge at 
Bracklinn, by a mountain stream called the Kellie, aboat •mile 
from the Tillage of Callander, in Menteith. 

n2 



298 THE L4DY OP THE LAKE, tCAmn a 

XV. 

*' What think I of him ? — woe the while 

That brought such wanderer to our isle ! 

Thy father's battle-brand, of yore 

For Tine-man forged by fairy lore,* 

What time he leagued, no longer foes, 

flis Border spears with Hotspur's bowa, 

Did, self unscabbarded, foreshow 

The footstep of a secret foe.'l' 

If courtly spy, and harboured here, 

What may we for the Douglas fear? 

What for this island, deemed of old 

Clan- Alpine's last and surest hold? 

If neither spy nor foe, I pray 

What yet may jealous Roderick say ! 

• — Nay, wave not thy disdainful head ! 

Bethink thee of the discord dread, 

That kindled when at Beltane gamtj, 

Thou ledd'st the dancf> with Malcolm Grrseme; 

Still, though thy sire the peace renewed, 

Smoulders in Roderick's breast the feud ; 

Beware ! — But hark, what sounds are these ? 

My dull ears catch no faltermg breeze," 

No weeping birch, nor aspens wake, 

Nor breath is dimpling in the lake, 

Still is the canna'sj hoary beard, 

Vet, by my minstrel faith, I heard, 

And hark again ! some pipe of war 

Sends the bold pibroch from afar." 

xvr. 
Far up the lengthened lake were spied 
Four darkening specks upon the tide, 
That, slow enlarging on the view, 
Four manned and masted barges grew, 

* Archibald, the third Earl of Douglas, was so nnforratiata n 
all his enterprises, that he acquired the epithet of TiriKMAN, !m> 
cause he tined or lost his followers in every battle which he foughU 
He was made prisoner by Hotspur in the bloody battle of Hoiail* 
don-hill near Wooler, and he afterwards fell at the battle of Verueuil 
with the flower of the Scottish chivalry, then ser\-iug as auxiliaries 
in France, and about two thoasand common soldiers, A.D. lVi\ 

t It was a S^iperstitious belief, that, enchanted swords possessed 

tho power of leapiiigraut of their scabbards, to indicate the r 

of an enemy. 

t Cotton-giass 



OAMTO IL] THE LADY OF THK LAKE. 299 

And bearing do-wn-wards from Glengyle, 

Steered full upon the lonely isle ; 

The point of Brianchoil they passed, 

And, to the windward as they cast, 

Against the sun they gave to shine 

ITie bold Sir Roderick's bannered pina. 

Nearer and nearer as they bear, 

Spears, pikes, and axes ilash in air. 

Now might you see the tartans brave, 

And plaids and plumage dance and wave; 

Now see the bonnets sink and rise, 

As his tough oar the rower plies ; 

See, flashing at each sturdy stroke, 

The wave ascending into smoke ; 

See the proud pipers on the bow, 

And mark the gaudy streamers flow 

From their loud chanters* down, and sweep 

The furrowed bosom of the deep, 

As, rushing through the lake amain. 

They plied the ancient Highland strain. 



Ever, as on they bore, more loud 

And louder rung the pibroch proud,*)* 

At fii-st the sounds, by distance tame, 

Mellowed along the waters came. 

And, lingering long by cape and bay. 

Wailed every harsher note away ; 

Then, bursting bolder on the ear, 

The clan's shrill Gathering they could hear; 

Those thrilling sounds, that call the might 

Of old Clan- Alpine to the fight. 

Thick beat the rapid notes, as when 

The mustering himdreds shake the glen. 

And, hurrying at the signal dread, 

The battered earth returns their tread. 



* The drone of the bagpipe. 

t The connoisseurs in pipe-music affect to discover in a well- 
composed pibroch, the imitative sounds of niarrh, conflict, flight, 
pursuit, and all the "current of a heady fight.'' It began with a 
grave motion, resembling a march ; then gradually quickened iuto 
the onset ; ran off with noisy confusion, and t uiliulent rapidity, to 
Imitate the conflict and pursuit ; then swelled into a few flounshea 
of triumphant joy ; and perhaps closed with the wild and slaW 
wailings of a fuaeral procession. 



300 



THE LADY 01- THU LAKE. t CANTO U 



Then prelude light, of livelier tone, 
Expressed their merry marching on, 
Ere peal of closing battle rose, 
With mingled outcry, shrieks, and blowB) 
And mimic disi of stroke and ward, 
As broad-sword upon target jarred; 
And groaning pause, ere yet again. 
Condensed, the battle yelled amain ; 
The rapid charge, the rallying shout. 
Retreat borne headlong into rout, 
And bursts of triumph, to declare 
Clan- Alpine's conquest — all were there. 
Nor ended thus the strain ; but slow, 
Sunk in a moan prolonged and low, 
And changed the conquering clarion swell, 
For wild lament o'er those that fell. 

XVIII. 
The war-pipes ceased ; but lake and hill 
Were busy with their echoes still ; 
And, when they slept, a vocal strain 
Bade their hoarse chorus wake again. 
While loud an bundled clansmen raise 
Their voices in their Chieftain's praise. 
Each boatman, bending to his oar, 
With measured sweep the burthen bore, 
In such wild cadence, as the breeze 
Makes through December's leafless trees. 
The chorus first could Allan know, 
♦' Roderigh Vich Alpine, ho ! iro !" 
And near, and nearer as they rowed, 
Distinct tJie martial ditty flowed. 



BOAT SONG. 
Hail to the chief who in triumph advances I 

Honoured and blessed be the ever-green Pine ! 
Long may the Tree in his banner that glances, 
Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line 1 
Heaven send it happy dew. 
Earth lend it sap anew, 
Qailyto bourgeon, and broadly to grow, 
while every highland glen 



OAITTO n.] THE LADY- OF THE LAKE. 301 

Sends our shout back agen, 
*' Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe !"* 
Oars is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain, 

Blooming at Beltane, in Nvinter to fade ; 
When the whirhvind has stripped every leaf on the 

mountain, 
The more shall Clan- Alpine exult in her shade. 

Moored in the rifted rock, 

Proof to the tempest's shock, 
Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow ; 

Menteith and Breadalbane, then, 

Echo his praise agen, 
** Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe T' 

XX. 

Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin, 
And Banachar's groans to our slogan replied; 
^len Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin. 
And the best of Loch- Lomond lie dead on her side.i' 

Widow and Saxon maid 

Long shall lament our raid. 
Think of Clan- Alpine with fear and with woe ; 

Lennox and Leven-glen 

Shake when they hear agen, 
" Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe !" 

Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands ! 

Stretch to your oars, for the ever-green Pine ! 
Oh ! that the rose-bud that graces yoii islands, 

Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine 

* Besides his ordinary name and surname, which were chiefly 
used in his intercourse with the Lowlands, every Highland chief 
had an epithet expressive of his patriarchal dignity as head of the 
clan, and commonly anotherpeciiUar to himself, which^distingniish- 
ed him from the chieftains of the same ra.-;e. This wa"*s sometimes 
derived from complexion, cis dhu or roy ; sometimes from size, as 
be^ or more; at other times, from some particular exploit, or from 
•ome peculiar]^ of habit or appearance. The line of the. text 
therefore signmes, 

Black Roderick, the descendant of Alpine. 

+ The Lennox, eis the district is called which encircles the lower 
(Sxtremity of Loch-Lomond, was peculiarly exposed to the incur- 
Bioiis of the mountaineers who inhabited the iioaccessiblo faistnesseg 
Kt the upper end of the lake, and the neighboarin;; district of Loch- 
Kktrine. These were often marked by circujinstaaces of great 

fcwcitr. 



302 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO U 

Oh tliat some seedling gem, 

Worthy such noble stem, 
Honoured and blessed in their shadow might growl 

Loud should Clan-Alpine then 

Ring from her deepmost glen, 
** Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho I ieroe !" 



With all her joj^l female band, 

Had Lady Margaret sought the strand. 

Loose on the breeze their tresses flew. 

And high their snowy arms they threw. 

As echoing back with shrill acclaim 

And chorus wild the chieftain's name ; 

While, prompt to please, with mother's 9t^ 

The daiiing passion of his heai-t, 

The Dame called Ellen to the strand, 

To greet her kinsman ere he land ; 

" Come, loiterer, come ! a Douglas thou. 

And shun to wreathe a \'ictor's Jarow?** 

Reluctantly and slow, the maid 

The unwelcome summoning obeyed, 

And, when a distant bugle rung, 

In the mid-path aside she sprung : 

" List, Allan-bane ! from mainland cast, 

I hear my father's signal blast. 

Be ours," she cried, " the skiff to guide. 

And waft him from the mountain side.** 

Then, like a sunbeam swift and bright. 

She darted to her shallop light. 

And, eagerly while Roderick scanned. 

For her dear form, his mother's band. 

The islet far behind her lay. 

And she had landed in the bay. 



Some feelings are to mortals given, 

With less of earth in them than heaven J 

And if there be a human tear 

From passion's dross refined and clear 

A tear so limpid and so meek, 

It would not stain an angel's cheek, 



CANTO II.] THE LiVDY OF THE LAKE. 304 

Tis that which pious fathers shed 
Upon a duteous daughter's head! 
And as the Douglas to his breast 
His darling Ellen closely pressed, 
Such holy drops her tresses steep'd, 
Though 'twas an hero's eye that weep'tL 
Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongue 
Her filial welcomes crowded hung, 
Marked she, that fear (affection's proof) 
Still held a graceful youth aloof; - 
No ! not till Douglas named his name, 
Although the youth was Malcolm Grsemei, 



Allan, with wistful look the while. 

Marked Roderick landing on the isle; 

His master piteously he eyed. 

Then gazed upon the chieftain's pride, 

Then dashed, with hasty hand, away 

From his dimmed eye the gathering spray; 

And Douglas, as his hand he laid 

On Malcolm's shoulder, kindly said, 

'' Canst thou, young friend, no meaning spy 

In my poor follower's glistening eye? 

I'll tell thee : — he recalls the day. 

When in my praise he led the lay 

O'er the arched gate of Bothwell proud. 

While many a minstrel answered loud, 

When Percy's Norman pennon, won 

In bloody field, before me shone, 

And twice ten knights, the least a name 

As mighty as yon chief may claim, 

Gracing my pomp, behind me came. 

Yet trust me, Malcolm, not so proud 

Was I of all that m.arshalled crowd, 

Though the waned crescent o^^•ned my migMj 

And in my train trooped lord and knight. 

Though Blantyre hymned her holiest lays, 

A.nd Bothwell's bards flung back my prais©, 

As when this old man's silent tear, 

And this poor maid's affection dear, 

A welcome give more kind and true 

Than aught my better fortunes knew. 



304 THE LADr OF THE LAKL. [CANTO tt 

Forgive, my friend, a father's boast ; 
Oh ! it out-beggars all I lost !" 

XXIV. 

Delightful praise ! — like summer rose, 
That brighter in the dew-drop glows, 
The bashful maiden's cheek appeared — 
For Douglas spoke, and Malcolm heard. 
The flush of shame-faced joy to hide. 
The hounds, the hawk, her cares divide ; 
The loved caresses of the maid 
ITie dogs with crouch and whimper paid 5 
And, at her whistle, on her hand 
The falcon took his favourite stand. 
Closed his dark wing, relaxed his eye, 
Nor, though unheeded, sought to fly. 
And trust, while in such guise she stood, 
Like fabled Goddess of the Wood, 
That if a father's partial thought 
O'erweighed her worth and beauty aught, 
Well might the lover's judgment fail, 
To balance with a juster scale ; 
For with each secret glance he stole, 
The fond enthusiast sent his soul. 



Of stature fair, and slender frame, 
But firmly knit, was Malcolm Graeme. 
The belted plaid and tartan hose 
Did ne'er more graceful limbs disclose ; 
His flaxen hair, of sunny hue. 
Curled closely round his bonnet blue ; 
Trained to the chase, his eagle eye 
The ptarmigan in snow could spy ; 
Each pass, by mountain, lake, and heath. 
He knew, through Lennox and Menteith ; 
Vain was the bound of dark-brown doe, 
When Malcolm bent his sounding bow, 
And scarce that doe, though winged vdth fear, 
Outstripped in speed the mountaineer; 
Right up Ben-Lomond could he presa, 
Asa not a sob hi^ toil confess 



CANTO IL] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 805 

His fonn accorded vrith a mind 
Lively and ardent, frank and kind ; 
A blither heart, till Ellen came, 
Did never love nor sorrow tame ; 
It danced as lightsome in his breast, 
As played the feather on his crest. 
Yet friends, who nearest knew the youth, 
His scorn of wrong, his zeal for truth, 
And bards, who saw his features bold, 
When kindled by the tales of old. 
Said, were that youth to manhood grown. 
Not long should Roderick Dhu's renown 
Be foremost voiced by mountain fame, 
But quail to that of Malcolm Graeme. 

XXVI, 
Now back they wend their watery way, 
-And, " Oh my sire !" did Ellen say, 
"T\Tiy urge thy chase so far astray? 
And why so late returned? And why" — 
The rest was in her speaking eye. 
•' My child, the chase I follow far, 
'Tis mimicry of noble war ; 
And with that gallant pastime reft 
Were all of Douglas I have left. 
I met young Malcolm as I strayed 
Far eastward, in Glenfinlas' shade. 
Nor strayed I safe ; for, all around, 
Hunters and horsemen scoured the ground. 
This youth, though still a royal ward, 
Risked life and land to be my guard. 
And through the passes of the wood 
Gruided my steps not unpursued ; 
And Roderick shall his welcome make, 
Despite old -spleen, for Doxiglas' sake. 
Then must he seek Strath-Endrick glen, 
Nor peril aught for me agen." 

XXVII. 
Sir Roderick, who to meet them came, 
Reddened at sight of Malcolm Graeme, 
Yet, nor in action, word, or eye. 
Failed aught in hospitality. 



.J06 • THE LADY OF THE I.AKE. [CANTO U 

In talk and sport they whiled away 

The morning of that summer day ; 

But at high noon a courier light 

Held secret parley with the knight, 

Whose moody aspect soon declared, 

That evil were the news he heard. 

Deep thought seemed toiling in his head ; 

Yet was the evening banquet made, 

Ere he assembled round the flame, 

His mother, Douglas, and the Graeme 

And Ellen too ; then cast around 

His eyes, then fixed them on the ground. 

As studying phrase that might avail 

Best to convey unpleasant tale. 

Long with his dagger's hilt he played. 

Then raised his haughty brow, and said :— 

XXVIII. 

" Short be my speech ; nor time affords. 

Nor my plain temper, glozing words. 

Kinsman and father — if such name 

Douglas vouchsafe to Roderick's claim ; 

Mine honoured mother ; Ellen — why, 

My cousin, turn away thine eye? 

And Graeme ; in whom I hope to know 

Full soon a noble friend or foe, 

When age shall give thee thy command. 

And leading in thy native land — 

List all ! The King's vindictive pride 

Boasts to have tamed the Border-side, 

Where chiefs, with hound and hawk who came 

To share their monarch's sylvan game, 

Themselves in bloody toils were snared, 

And when the banquet they prepared, 

* In 1529, James V., determined toextirpate the Border robbewk 
who, during his minority, had committed many excesses, assembled 
d flying army of ten thousand men, consisting of liis principa. 
nobility and their followers, ^rho were directed to bring' theif 
hawks and dogs with them, that the monarch miarhl refresh him- 
self with sport during the intervals of military execution. With 
this array he swept through Ettricke forest, hanged over the gate 
of his own castle Piers Cockbura of Henderland, and caused Adam 
Scott of Tushielaw, ^vho was distinguished bv the title of King of 
the Border, and the noted John Ai-mstrong oi Gilnockie, to be ex- 
ecuted. The effect of this severity was such, that, as the vulgal 
cxprassed it, " the rush bush kept the cow." 



CANTO no THE LADY OP THE LAKE. 307 

And wide tteir loyal portals flung, 

O'er their own gafteway struggling hung. 

Loud cries their blood from Meggat's mead. 

From Yarrow braes, and banks of Tweed, 

Where the lone streams of Ettricke glide, 

And from the silver Teviot's side ; 

The dales, where martial clans did ride. 

Are now one sheep-walk waste and wide. 

This tyrant of the Scottish throne, 

So faithless, and so ruthless known. 

Now hither comes ; his end the same, 

The same pretext of sylvan game. 

What grace for Highland chiefs judge ye, 

By fate of Border chivalry.* 

Yet more ; amid Glenfinlas green, 

Douglas, thy stately form was seen. 

This by espial sure I know : 

Your counsel in the streight I show." 



Ellen and Margaret fearfully 

Sought comfort in each other's eye, 

Then turned their ghastly look, each one. 

This to her sire, that to her son. 

The hasty colour went and came 

In the bold cheek of Malcolm Graeme ; 

But, from his glance it well appeared, 

'Twas but for Ellen that he feared ; 

While sorrowful, but undismay'd, 

The Douglas thus his counsel said : — 

" Brave Roderick, though the tempest roar, 

It may but thunder and pass o'er ; 

Nor will I here remain an hour. 

To drav;^ the lightning on thy bower ; 

For well thou know'st, at this grey head 

The royal bolt were fiercest sped. 

For thee, who, at thy King's command. 

Canst aid him with a gallant band, 



* James was, in fact, attentive to restrain rapine and feadol oj»» 
3s.^i(m not only upon Ihe Border, but also in the highlands and 
B islea, many of the chief men of which he detaiued as hostages 
■ the behaviour of their vassals. 



308 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO 

Submission, homage, humbled pride, 
Shall turn the Monarch's wrath aside. 
Poor remnants of the Bleeding Heart, 
Ellen and I will seek, apart, 
The refuge of some forest cell ; 
There, like the hunted quarry, dwell. 
Till, on the mountain and the moor, 
The stern pursuit be passed and o'er." 



" No, by mine honour I" Roderidk said, 

" So help me heaven, and my good blade » 

No, never ! Blasted be yon piue. 

My fathers' ancient crest, and mine, 

If from its shade in danger part 

The lineage of the Bleeding Heart ! 

Hear my blunt speech. Grant me this main 

To wife, thy counsel to mine aid ; 

To Douglas, leagued with Roderick Dhu, 

Will friends and allies flock enow ; 

Like cause of doubt, distrust, and grief, 

Will bind to us each Western Chief. 

"When the loud pipes my bridal tell. 

The Links of Forth shall hear the knell. 

The guards shall start in Stirling's porch ; 

And when I light the nuptial torch, 

A thousand villages in flames. 

Shall scare the slumbers of King James. 

— Nay, Ellen, blench not thus away. 

And, mother, cease these sighs, I pray; 

I meant not all my heat might say. 

Small need of inroad, or of tight. 

When the sage Douglas may unite 

Each mountain clan in friendly band. 

To guard the passes of their land, 

Till the foiled King, from pathless elen, 

Shall bootless turn him home agen. ' 

XXXI. 

rhere are who have, at midnight hour. 
In slamber scaled a dizzy tower. 
And, on the verge that beetled o'er 
The ocean-tide's incessant roar. 



CANTO n.] XHB LADY OF THE LAKE. 309 

Dreamed calmly out their dangerous dream. 

Till wakened by the morning beam ; 

When, dazzled by the eastern glow, 

Such startler cast his glance below. 

And saw unmeasured depth around. 

And heard imintermitted sound, 

And thought the battled fence so frail, 

It waved like cobweb in the gale ; 

Amid his senses' giddy wheel. 

Did he not desperate impulse feel. 

Headlong to plunge himself below. 

And meet the worst his fears foresho-sr 

Thus, Ellen, dizzy and astound. 

As sudden ruin yawned around. 

By crossing terrors wildly tossed. 

Still for the Douglas fearing most, 

Could scarce the desperate thought withstand. 

To buy his safety with her hand. 

XXXII. 

Such purpose dread could Malcolm spy 

In Ellen's quivering lip and eye. 

And eager rose to speak — but ere 

His tongue could hurry forth his fear, 

Had Douglas marked the hectic strife, 

Where death seemed combating with life * 

For to her cheek, in feverish flood, 

One instant rushed the throbbing blood 

Then ebbing back, with sudden sway. 

Left its domain as wan as clay. 

" Roderick, enough ! enough P' he cried, 

"My daughter cannot be thy bride; 

Not that the blush to wooer dear, 

Nor paleness that of maiden feax. 

It may not be — forgive her, chie^ 

Nor hazard aught for our relief. 

Against his sovereign, Douglas ne'er 

Will level a rebellious spear. 

*Twas 1 that taught his youthful hand 

To rein a steed and wield a brand. 

/ see him yet, the princely boy! 

Not Ellen more my pride and joy; 



310 THE LADY OF THE UiKE. CCANTO 

I love him still, despite my -wrongs, 
By hasty wrath, and slanderous tongues. 
Oh seek the grace you well may find, 
Without a cause to mine combined.'" 

XXXIII. 
Twice through the hall tne Chieftain strode. 
The waving of his tartans broad, 
And darkened brow, where wounded pride 
With ire and disappointment vied, 
Seemed, by the torch's gloomy light, 
Like the ill Daemon of the night. 
Stooping his pinions' shadoAvy sway 
Upon the nighted pilgrim's way: 
But, unrequited Love ! thy dart 
Plunged deepest its envenomed smart. 
And Roderick, with thine anguish stung, 
At length the hand of Douglas wning. 
While eyes, that mocked at tears before, 
With bitter drops were miming o'er. 
The death-pangs of long-cherished hope 
Scarce in that ample breast had scope, 
But, struggling with his spirit proud, 
Convulsive heaved its chequered shroud, 
While every sob — so mute were all — 
Was heard distinctly through the hall. 
The son's despair, the mother's look, 
111 might the gentle Ellen brook ; 
She rose, and to her side there came. 
To aid her pai-ting steps, the Graeme. 



Then Roderick from the Douglas broke— 
As flashes flame through sable smoke, 
Kindling its wreaths, long, dark, and low. 
To one broad blaze of ruddy glow, 
So the deep anguish of despair 
Burst, in fierce jealousy, to air. 
With stalwart grasp his hand he laid 
On Malcolm's breast and belted plaid:— 
" Back, beardless boy !" he sternly said, 
" Back, minion ! hold'st thou thus at naught 
The le^on I so lately taught? 



311 



C^KTO IL] THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 

This roof, the Douglas, and that maid. 
Thank thou for punishment delayed." 
Eager as greyhound on his game, 
Fiercely with Roderick grappled Graeme. 
"Perish my name, if aught aiford 
Its chieftain safety, save his sword!" 
Thus as they strove, their desperate hand 
Griped to the dagger or the brand, 
And death had been — but Douglas rose, 
And thiiist between the struggling foes 
His giant strength: — "Chieftains, forego! 
I hold the first who strikes, my foe. 
Madmen, forbear your frantic jar! 
What ! is the Douglas fallen so far. 
His daughter's hand is deemed the spoil 
Of such dishonourable broil !" 
Sullen and slowly, they unclasp, 
As struck with shame, their desperate grasp, 
And each upon his rival glared. 
With foot advanced, and blade half bared. 



Ere yet the brands aloft were flung, 
Margaret on Roderick's mantle hung, 
And Malcolm heard his Ellen's scream. 
As faltered through terrific dream. 
Then Roderick plunged in sheath his swoid, 
And veiled his wrath in scornful word. 
"Rest safe till morning; pity 'twere 
Such cheek should feel the midnight air!* 
Then may'st thou to James Stuart tell, 
Roderick will keep the lake and fell. 
Nor lackey, with his free-bom clan, 
The pageant pomp of earthly man. 
More would he of Clan- Alpine know, 
Thou canst our strength and passes show. 
Malise, what ho?" — ^his henchmani* came; 
*'Give our safe conduct to the Graeme." 

* Hardihood was in every respect so essential to the chaiactfli 
of af Highlander, that the reproach of efleniinacy was the most 
bitter which could Jje thrown upon him. 

+ This officer who was a sort of secretary, -n-as to be ready, 
npou all occasions, to venture his life in defence of his master. 
At drinking-bouts he stood behind hi8Chieftain'sse;it, at his haunch, 
rrom whence his title was derived. 



312 THE LADr OF THE LAKE. CCANTO B. 

Young Malcolm auswered, calm and bold, 
" Fear nothing for thy favourite hold. 
The spot, an angel deigned to grace, 
Is blessed, though robbers haunt the plaoe ; 
Thy churlish courtesy for those 
Reserve, who fear to be thy foes. 
As safe to me the mountain way 
At midnight, as in blaze of day, 
Though, ^vith his boldest at his back. 
Even Roderick Dhu beset the track. 
Brave Douglas — lovely Ellen — nay, 
Nought here of parting will I say. 
Earth does not hold a lonesome glen, 
So secret, but we meet agen. 
Chieftain ! we too shall find an hour," 
He said, and left the sylvan bower. 

XXXVI. 

Old Allan followed to the strand, 

(Such was the Douglas's command,) 

And anxious told, how, on the mom. 

The stern Sir Roderick deep had sworn. 

The Fiery Cross should circle o'er 

Dale, glen, and valley, down, and moor. 

Much were the peril to the Grajme, 

From those who to the signal came; 

Far up the lake 'twere safest land, 

Himself would row him to the strand. 

He gave his counsel to the wind, 

While Malcolm did, imheeding, bind. 

Round dirk and pouch and broad-swoid roUod; 

His ample plaid in tightened fold. 

And stripped his limbs to such array 

As best might suit the watery way. 

xxxvir. 

Then spoke abrupt : — " Farewell to thee, 
Pattern of old fidelity !" 
The minstrel's hand he kindly pressed, 
"Oh! could I point a place of rest! 
My sovereign holds in ward my land. 
My uncle leads my vassal band: 



CANTO III.3 IHE LADY OF THK LA.KB. 313 

To tame his foes, his friends to aid, 
Poor Malcolm has but heart and blade : 
Yet, if there be one faithful Graeme, 
Who loves the Chieftain of his name, 
Not long shall honoured Douglas dwell. 
Like hunted stag, in mountain cell: 
Nor, ere yon pride-swollen robber dare — 
I may not give the rest to air ! — 
Tell Roderick Dhu, I owed him noiight, 
Not the poor service of a boat, 
To waft me to yon mountain side;" 
Then plunged he in the Hashing tide. 
Bold o'er the flood his head he bore, 
And stoutly steered him from the shore; 
And Allan strained his anxious eye. 
Far 'mid the lake his form to spy. 
Darkening across each puny wave, 
To which the moon her silver gave. 
Fast as the cormorant; could slum, 
The swimmer plied each active limb; 
Then landing in the moonlight dell. 
Loud shouted of his weal to tell. 
The Minstrel heard the far halloo, 
And joyful from the shore withdrew. 



CANTO THIRD. 

etc i3atf}ttinq. 



Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore 
Who danced our infancy upon their knee, 

And told our marvelling boyhood legends store. 
Of their strange ventures napp'd by land or sea, 
How are they blotted from the things that be! 

How few, all weak and withered of their force, 
Wait, on the verge of dark eternity. 

Like stranded vrrecks, the tide returning hoarse, 

To sweep them from our sigjht! Time rolla his 
less course. 



314 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO IIL 

Yet live there still who can remember well. 

How, when a mountain chief his bugle blew. 
Both field and forest, dingle, cliff, and dell, 

And solitary heath, the signal knew; 

And fast the faithful clan around him drew, 
What time zhe warning note was keenly wound, 

What time aloft their kindred banner flew. 
While clamorous war-pipes yelled the gatheiing 

sound, 
And while the Fiery Cross glanced, like a meteor, 
round.'* 



The summer da^\Ti's reflected hue 

To purple changed Loch- Katrine blue ; 

Mildly and soft the western breeze 

Just kissed the lake, just stirred the trees, 

And the pleased lake, like maiden coy, 

Trembled but dimpled not for joy; 

The mountain shadows on her breast 

Were neither broken nor at rest ; 

In bright uncertainty they lie. 

Like future joys to Fancy's eye. 

The water lily to the light 

Her chalice rear'd of silver bright ; 

The doe awoke, and to the lavra. 

Begemmed with dew-drops, led her fkwn; 

ITie grey mist left the mountain side, 

The toTTBXit showed its glistening pride; 

Ifivioible" in flecked sky, 

The lark sent down her revelry; 

The blackbird and the speckled thrush 

Good-morrow gave from brake and bush; 

* "UHien a chieftain designed to summon his clan, upon an 
emergency, he slew a goat, and nxakiu? a cross of any light wood 
geared its extremities in the fire, ana extinguished them in thn 
blood of the animal. This was called the Fiery Cross, and also th« 
Cross if Shame, because disobedience to the symbol inferred ii> 
famy. It was passed with incredible celerity through all the dis- 
trict which owed allegiance to the chief, and also among his allies 
and neighbours, if the danger was common to them, and at sight 
• of the Fiery Cross, every man, from sixteen years old to sixty, 
capable of bearing arms, was obliged instantly to repair, in his best 
arms and accoutrements, to the place of rendezvous. He who 
failed to appear, suffered the extremities of fire and sword, which 
were emblematically denounced by the bloody and burned marks 
^on this warlike signal. 



CANTO IIL] THjE lady OF THE LAKE. 816 

la answer cooed the cushat dove. 
Her notes of peace, and rest, and love. 



No thought of peace, no thought of rest. 
Assuaged the storm in Roderick's breast. 
With sheathed broad-sword in his haJid, 
Abrupt he paced the islet strand. 
And eyed the rising sun, and laid 
His hand on his impatient blado. 
Beneath a rock, his vassals' care. 
Was prompt the ritual to prepare, 
With deep and deathful meaning frauglit; 
For such Antiquity had taught 
Was preface meet, ere yet abroad 
The Cross of Fire should take its road. 
The shrinking band stood oft aghast 
At the impatient glance he cast; — 
Such glance the mountain eagle threw, 
As, from the cliffs of Ben- venue, 
She spread her dark sails on the wind. 
And high in middle heaven reclined. 
With her broad shadow on the lake, 
Silenced the warblers of the brake. 



A beap of withered boughs was piled. 
Of juniper and rowan wild. 
Mingled ■v\dth shivers from the oak. 
Rent by the lightning's recent stroke. 
Brian the Hermit by it stood. 
Barefooted, in his frock and hood. 
His grisled beard and matted hair 
Obscured a visage of despair; 
ETis naked arms and legs, seamed o'eir, 
The scars of frantic penance bore. 
That Monk, of savage form and face, 
Tlie impending danger of his race 
Had drawn from deepest solitude. 
Far in BenhaiTow's bosom rude. 
Not his the mien of Christian prleSi 
But Druid's, from the grave released. 



816 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. LCAN-^O IH. 

Whose hardened h«art and eye might brook 

On human sacrifice to lock. 

And much, 'twas said, of heathen lore 

Mixed in the charms he muttered o'er; 

The hallowed creed gave only worse 

And de^lier emphasis of curse. 

No peasant sought that Hermit's prayer. 

His cave the pilgiim shunned with care; 

The eagei huntsman knew his bound, 

And in mid chase called off his hound; 

Or if, in lonely glen or strath, 

The desert-dweller met his path, 

He prayed, and signed the cross between. 

While terror took devotion's mien. 



Of Brian's birth strange tales were told,* 
His mother watched a midnight fold, 
Built deep within a dreary glen, 
Where scattered lay the bones of men. 
In some forgotten battle slain. 
And bleached by drifting wind and rain. 
It might have tamed a warrior's heart. 
To view such mockery of his art! 
The knol^grass fettered there the hand, 
Which once could burst an iron band; 
Beneath the broad and ample bone, 
That bucklered heart to fear unknown, 
A feeble and a timorous guest, 
The field-fare framed her lowly nest; 
There the slow blind- worm left his slime 
On the fleet limbs that mocked at time; 
And there, too, lay the leader's skull. 
Still wreathed with chaplet flushed and full, 
For heath-bell, mth her purple bloom, 
Supplied the bonnet and the plume. 
All night, in this sad glen, the maid 
Sate shrouded in her mantle's shade : 
■ — She said, no shepherd sought her side, 
No hunter's hand her snood untied, 

* The legend which follows is not of the authoi*8 Invention, 
tteing adopted in aJmo*: every particular, from the geographical 
odUati tiona made by the laird of MacfEtrlane. 



ANTO IIL] THE LADY OF THE LAKS. 317 

Yet ne'er again to braid her hair 
The virgin snood did Alice wear:* 
Gone was her maiden glee and sporty 
Her maiden girdle all too short, 
Nor sought she, from that fatal night, 
Or holy church or blessed rite. 
But locked her secret in her breast, 
And died in travail, unconfessed. 

VI. 
Alone, among his young compeers, 
Was Brian from his infant years; 
A moody and heart-broken boy, 
Estranged from sympathy and joy. 
Bearing each taunt wliich careless tongue 
On his mysterious lineage iiung. 
Whole nights he spent by moonlight pftla, 
To Avood and stream his hap to wail. 
TilL, frantic, he as truth received 
WTiat of his birth the crowd believed, 
And sought, in mist and meteor lire. 
To meet and know his Phantom Sire ! 
In vain to soothe his wayAvard fate, 
The cloister oped her pitying gate ; 
In vain, the learning of the age 
Unclasped the sable-lettered page ; 
Even in its treasures he could tind 
Food for the fever of his mind. 
Eager he read whatever tells 
Of magic, cabala, and spells. 
And every dark pursuit allied 
To curious and presumptuous pride. 
Till, with fired brain and nerves o'erstrung, 
And heart with mystic horrors wrung. 
Desperate he sought Benharrow's den. 
And hid him from the haunts of men. 

• The mood, or ribband, rrith which a Scottish lass brudedhoi 
hair, had an emblematical signification, and applied to her maiden 
ehaxacter. It was exchanged for the curch, toy, or coif, when sht 
passed, by marriage, into the matron state. But if the damsel 
was so unfortunate as to lose pretecsions to the name of maiden, 
without gaining a right to that of matron, she was neither per- 
—'"—'. to use the suood nor advanced to the graver dignity of the 



318 THE LADY CF THK LAKE. [CANTO DO. 

VII. 

The desert gave him visions wild, 

Such as might suit the Spectre's child. 

W'here with black cliffs the torrents toil. 

He watched the wheeling eddies boil, 

Till, from their foam, his dazzled eyes 

Beheld the river demon rise ; 

The mountain mist took form and limb 

Of noontide hag, or goblin gi-im ; 

The midnight wind came wild and dread, 

Swelled with the voices of the dead 

Far on the future battle-heath 

His eye beheld the ranks of death : 

Thus the lone Seer, from mankind hurled. 

Shaped forth a disembodied world. 

One lingering sympathy of mind 

Still bound him to the mortal kind ; 

The only parent he could claim 

Of ancient Alpine's lineage came. 

Late had he heard, in prophet's di'eam. 

The fatal Ben-Shie's boding scream ;* 

Sounds, too, had come in midnight blast. 

Of charging steeds, careering fast 

Along Benharrow's shingly side. 

Where mortal horseman ne'er might ride ;+ 

The thunderbolt had split the pine — 

All augur' d ill to Alpine's line. 

He girt his loins, and came to show 

The signals of impending woe. 

And now stood prompt to bless or ban, 

As bade the Chieftain of his clan. 

VIII. 

'Twas all prepared — and from the rock, 
A goat, the patriarch of the flock 

* Most great families in the Highlands were supposeii in have a 
tutelar, or domestic spirit, either of male or ftmale appeirarcOf 
who took an interest in their prosperity, and intbnaled, by lU 
wailings any approaching disaster. The Beu-Shie uD|ilies ihe 
female Fairy, wliose lamentations were ofton supposed to pteceat 
the death of a chieftain of particular families. 

+ A presage of this kind is still believed to aunoanc o death to 
the ancient highland family of M'Lean of Lochbuy. Th'; spirit o^ 
an ancestor slain in battle is heard to gallop along a stony bank, 
and then to ride thrice around the family residence, ringing tm 
feiry iiridle, and thvis intimating the approaching calainitfa 



CANTO ni.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 319 

Before the kindling pile was laid. 
And pierced by Roderick's ready blade. 
Patient the sickening victim eyed 
The life-blood ebb in crimson tide, 
Down his clogged beard and shaggy limb, 
Till darkness glazed his eyeballs dim. 
The grisly priest, Avith munnuring prayer, 
A slender crosslet framed with care. 
A cubit's length in measure due ; 
The shaft and limbs were rods of yew, 
Whose parents in Inch-Cailliach wave 
Their shadows o'er Clan- Alpine's grave,* 
And, answering Lomond's breezes deep, 
Soothe many a chieftain's endless sleep. 
The Cross, thus formed, he held on high, 
With wasted hand and haggard eye. 
And strange and mingled feelings woke. 
While his anathema he spoke. 

IX. 

*' Woe to the clansman, who shall view 
This sjTnbol of sepulchral yew. 
Forgetful that its branches grew 
Where weep the heavens their holiest dew 

On Alpine's dwelling low ! 
Deserter of his Chieftain's trust. 
He ne'er shall mingle with their dust. 
But from his sires and kindred thrust, 
iiach clansman's execration just 

Shall doom him wrath and woe." 
He paused — the Avord the vassals took, 
With forward step and fiery look. 
On high their naked brands they shook. 
Their clattering targets wildly strook ; 

And first, in murmur low, 
Then, like the billow in his course. 
That far to seaward finds his source. 
And flings to shore his mustered force, 
Burst, with loud roar, their answer hoarse, 

" Woe to the traitor, woe !" 

* Inch- CaiUiach, the Isle of Nuns, or of Old Women, is • moot 
beautiful island at the lower extremity of Loch-Lomond. Th* 
burial ground there continues to be used, and contains the family 
places of sepulture of several families, claimins; a descent ftom the 
oid Scottish King Alpine. 



320 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CAKTO I 

Ben-an's grey scalp the accents knew, 
The joyous wolf from covert drew, 
The exulting eagle screamed afar — 
They knew the voice of Alpine's war. 

X. 

The shout was hushed on lake and fell. 
The Monk resumed his muttered spell. 
Dismal and low its accents came, 
The while he scathed the Cross with flame | 
And the few words that reached the air 
Although the holiest name was there, 
Had more of blasphemy than prayer. 
But when he shook above the crowd 
Its kindled points, he spoke aloud : — 
" Woe to the wretch, who fails to rear 
At this dread sign the ready spear ! 
For, as the flames this symbol sear, 
His home, the refuge of his fear, 

A kindred fate shall know ; 
Far o'er its roof the volumed flame 
Clan- Alpine's vengeance shall proclaim. 
While maids and matrons on his name 
Shall call down wretchedness and shame^ 

And infamy and woe !" 
Then rose the cry of females, shrill 
As goss-hawk's whistle on the hill, 
Denouncing misery and ill, 
Mingled with childhood's babbling trill 

Of curses stammered slow ; 
Answering, with imprecation dread, 
" Simk be his home in embers red ! 
And cursed be the meanest shed 
That e'er shall hide the houseless head 

We doom to want and woe !" 
A shan) and shrieking echo gave, 
Coir-Uriskin, thy goblin cave! 
And the grey pass where birches wave. 

On Beala-nam-bo. 

XI. 

Then deeper paused the priest anew, 
And hard his labouring breath he drew, 
While, with set teeth and clenched hano. 
And eyes that glowed like fiery brand. 



CANTO lU.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 325 

He meditated curse more dread. 
And deadlier, on the clansman's head. 
Who summoned to his Chieftain's aid, 
The signal saw and disoheyed. 
The crosslet's points of sparkling -wood. 
He quenched among the bubbling blood, 
And as again the sign he reared, 
Hollow and hoarse his voice was heard : 
" When Hits this Cross from man to man, 
Vich- Alpine's summons to his clan, 
Burst be the ear that fails to heed ! • 
Palsied the foot that shuns to speed 
May ravens tear the careless eyes ! 
Wolves make the coward heart their prize ! 
As sinks that blood-stream in the earth, 
So may his heart's-blood drench his hearthl 
As dies in hissing gore the spark. 
Quench thou his light, Destruction dark! 
And be the grace to him denied. 
Bought by this sign to all beside !" 
He ceased : no echo gave ageu 
The murmur of the deep Amen. 



Then Roderick, with impatient look. 
From Brian's hand the s}Tjabol took : 
*' Speed, Malise, speed !' he said, and gave 
The crosslet to his henchman brave; 
" The muster-place be Lanric mead — 
Instant the time — speed, Malise, speed l" 
Like heath-bird, when the hawks pursue, 
A barge across Loch- Katrine flew ; 
High stood the henchman on the prow ; 
So rapidly the barge-men row, 
The bubbles, where they launched the boat, 
W ere all unbroken and afloat, 
Dancing in foam and ripple still. 
When it had neared the mainland hill; 
And from the silver beach's side 
Still was the prow three fathoms wide. 
When lightly bounded to t^e land. 
The messenger of blood and brand* 
o2 



322 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO UL 



XIIL 

Speed, Malise, speed ! the dim deer's hide 
On fleeter foot was never tied.* 
Speed, Malise, speed! such cause of hast© 
Thine active sinews never braced. 
Bend 'gainst the steepy hill thy breast, 
Burst down like torrent from its crest ; 
With short and springing footsteps pass 
The trembling bog and false morass ; 
Across the brook like roebuck bound, 
And thread the brake like questing hovmd ; 
The crag is high, the scaur is deep, 
Yet shrink not from the desperate leap ; 
Parched are thy burning lips and brow. 
Yet by the fountain pause not now ; 
Herald of battle, fate, and fear. 
Stretch onward in thy fleet career ! 
The wounded hind thou track' st not now 
Pursu'st not maid through greenw^ood bough. 
Nor pliest thou now thy flying pace 
With rivals in the mountain race ; 
But danger, death, and warrior deed 
Are in thy course — Speed, Malise, speed I 



Fast as the fatal symbol flies. 
In arms the huts and hamlets rise ; 
From winding glen, from upland brown, 
They poured each hardy tenant down. 
Nor slacked the messenger his pace ; 
He showed the sign, he named the place, 
And, pressing forward like the \vind, 
Left clamour and surprise behind. 
The fisherman forsook the strand, 
Ths swarthy smith took dirk and brand ; 
With changed cheer, the mower blithe 
Left in the half-cut swathe his sc}'the ; 
The herds without a keeper strayed. 
The plough was in mid-furrow staid, 

» The broffue or shoe of the Highlanders 5g made af half 4rled 
leather, with holes to admit and let out the water. The ancient 
buskin was still ruder, being made of the undressed deer's hid«t 
with the hair outwards, a circumstance which procured the Higb- 
.anders the well-kuown epithet of red than/eg. 



CANTO mo THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 333 

rhe falcner tossed his hawk away, 
The hunter left the stag at hay ; 
Prompt at the signal of alarms, 
Each son of Alpine rushed to arms ; 
Bo swept the tumult and affray 
A long the margin of Achray. 
Alas, thou Iffvely lake ! that e'er 
Thy hanks should echo sounds of fear ! 
The rocks, the bosky thickets, sleep 
So stilly on thy bosom deep, 
The lark's blithe carol from the cloud, 
Seemi for the scene too gaily loud. . 



Speed, Malise, speed ! the lake is past, 

Ehiucraggan's huts appear at last. 

And peep, like moss-grown rocks, half soca, 

Half hidden in the copse so green ; 

There may'st thou rest, thy labour done. 

Their Lord shall speed the signal on. 

As stoops the haAvk upon his prey. 

The henchman shot him down the way. 

— What woeful accents load the gale ? 

The funeral yell, the female wail I 

A gallant hunter's sport is o'er, 

A valiant warrior fights no more. 

Who, in the battle or the chase. 

At Roderick's side shall fill his place ! — 

Within the hall, where torch's ray 

Supplies the excluded beams of day. 

Lies Duncan on his lowly bier. 

And o'er him streams his widow's tear. 

His stripling son stands mournful by. 

His youngest weeps, but knows not why ; 

The ^^llage maids and matrons round 

The dismal coronach* resound. 

XVI, 
COaONACH. 

He is gone on the mountain, 



He is lost to the forest. 



« The Coronach of the Highlanders, was a wild expression ot 
'ameutation poured forth by the mouruers over the body of A 
Cei-arted friend. 



324 THE LADY OP THE LAKE. [CANTO IQ 

Like a summer-dried fountain, 

When our need was the sorest. 
The font, re-appearing, 

From the rain-drops shall borrow. 
But to us comes no cheering, 

To Duncan no morrow ! 
The hand of the reaper 

Takes the ears ;that are hoary, 
But the voice of the weeper 

"Wails manhood in glory ; 
The autumn winds rushing 

Waft the leaves that are searest, 
But our flower was iu flushing. 

When blighting was nearest. 
Fleet foot on the correi,* 

Sage counsel in cumber, 
Red hand in the foray, 

How sound is thy slumber ! 
Like the dew on the mountain, 

Like the foam on the river. 
Like the bubble on the fountain, 

Thou art gone, and for ever I 

XVII. 

See Stumah,t who, the bier beside, 

His master's corpse with wonder eyed — 

Poor Stumah ! whom his least halloo 

Could send like lightning o'er the dew, 

Bristles his crest, and points his ears, 

As if some stranger step he hears. 

'Tis not a mourner's muffled tread, 

Who comes to sorrow o'er the dead. 

But headlong haste, or deadly fear. 

Urge the precipitate career. 

All stand aghast : — unheeding all. 

The henchman bursts into the hall ! 

Before the dead man's bier he stood. 

Held forth the Cross besmeared with blood ! 

•' The muster-place is Lanrick mead ; 

Speed forth the signal ! clansmen, speed T' 

* Or cptri. The hollow side of the hill, where game usually 
f Faithful. The uame of a dog. 



CANTO mo THE LADY OP THE LAKE. 

XVIII, 

Angus, the heir of Duncan's line, 
Sprang forth and seized the fatal sign. 
In haste the stripling to his side 
His father's dirk and broad-sword tied ; 
But when he saw his mother's eye 
Watch him in speechless agony. 
Back to her opened arms he ijew, 
Pressed on her lips a fond adieu. 
" Alas !" she sobbed — " and yet he gone. 
And speed thee forth, like Duncan's son 
One look he cast upon the bier, 
Dashed from his eye the gathering tear, 
Breathed deep, to clear his labouring breast, 
And tossed aloft his bonnet crest, 
Then, like the high-bred colt when freed 
First he essays his fire and speed. 
He vanished, and o'er moor and moss 
Sped forward with the Fiery Cross. 
Suspended was the widow's tear, 
While yet his footsteps she could hear ; 
And when she marked the henchman's eye 
Wet with unwonted sympathy, 
" Kinsman," she said, " his race is run, 
That should have sped thine errand on ; 
The oak has fallen — the sapling bough 
Is all Duncraggan's shelter now. 
. Yet trust I well, his duty done, 
The orphan's God will guard my son. 
And you, in many a danger true, 
At Duncan's best your blades that drew, 
To arms, and guard that orphan's head ! 
Let babes and women wail the dead." 
Then weapon-clan, and martial call, 
Resounded through the funeral hall, 
While from the walls the attendant band 
Snatched sword and targe, with hurried hand ; 
And short and flitting energy 
Glanced from the mourner's sunken eye, 
As if the sounds to warrior dear 
Might rouse her Duncan from his bier. 
But faded soon that borrowed force; 
Grief claimed his right, and tears their course, 



S26 THE LADT OF THE LAKEt (.CANTO m 

XIX. 

Benledi saw the Cross of Fire, 
It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ii«, 
O'er dale and bill the summons flew, 
Not rest nor pause young Angus knew; 
The tear that gathered in his eye, 
He left the mountain breeze to dry ; 
l/ntil, where Teith's young waters roll. 
Betwixt him and a wooded knoll, 
Tliat graced the sable strath with green. 
The chapel of Saint Bride was seen. 
Swoln was the stream, remote the bridge, 
But Angus paused not on the edge ; 
Though the dark waves danced dizzily, 
Though reeled his sympathetic eye, 
He dashed amid the torrent's roar ; 
His right hand high the crosslet bore, 
His left the pole-axe grasped, to guide 
And stay his footing in the tide. 
He stumbled twice — the foam splashed lii^; 
With hoarser swell the stream raced by ; 
And had he fallen — for ever there. 
Farewell Duncraggan's orphan heir 1 
But still, as if in parting life. 
Firmer he grasped the Cross of strife, 
Until the opposing bank he gained. 
And up the chapel pathway strained. 

XX. 

A blithesome rout, that morning tide. 
Had sought the chapel of Saint Bride. 
Her troth Tombea's Mary gave 
To M orman, heir of Annandave, 
And, issuing frorh the Gothic arch. 
The bridal now resumed their march. 
In rude, but glad procession, came 
Bonnetted sire and coif-clad dame ; 
And plaided youth, with jest and jeer, 
Which snooded maiden would not hoar; 
And children, that, un^vitting why. 
Lent the gay shout their shrilly cry ; 
And minstrels, that in measures vied 
Before the youn^ and bonny bride. 



CANTO mo THE LADY OP THK LAKE. 

Whose downcast eye and cheek disclose 
The tear and blush of morning rose. 
With virgin step, and bashful hand, 
She held the kerchiefs sno%vy band ; 
The gallant bridegroom, by her side, 
Beheld his prize with victor's pride. 
And the glad mother in her ear 
Was flosely whispering word of cheer. 

XXI. 

Who meets tl\em at the church-yard gate? 

The messenger of fear and fate! 

Haste in his hurried accent lies, 

And grief is swimming in his eyes. 

All dripping from the recent flood, 

Panting and travel-soiled he stood, 

The fatal sign of fire and sword 

Held forth, and spoke the appointed word t 

" The muster-place is Lanrick mead ; 

Speed forth the signal! Norman, speed T' 

Ajid must he change so soon the hand, 

Just linked to his by holy band. 

For the fell cross of blood and brand ? 

And must the day, so blithe that rose, 

And promised rapture in the close, 

Before its setting hour, divide 

The bridegroom from the plighted bride ? 

Oh fatal doom ! — it must ! it must ! 

Clan- Alpine's cause, her Chieftain's trust, 

Her summons dread!, brooks no delay ; 

Stretch to the race — away ! away .' 



Yet slow he laid his plaid aside, 
And, lingering, eyed his lovely bride. 
Until he saw the starting tear 
Speak woe he might not stop to cheer; 
Then, trusting not a second look. 
In haste he sped him up the brook. 
Nor backward glanced till on the heath 
Where Lubnaig's lake supplies the Teith 
What in the racer's bosom stirred? 
The sickening pang of hope deferred 



328 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. CCAWTO HI 

And memory, with a torturing train 

Of all his morning visions vain. 

Mingled with love's impatience, came 

The manly thirst for martial fame; 

The stormy joy of mountaineers, 

Ere yet they rush upon the spears ; 

And zeal for clan and chieftain burning, 

And hope, from well-fought field returning. 

With war's red honours on his crest, 

To clasp his Mary to his breast. 

Stung by such thoughts, o'er bank and^brao, 

Like fire from flint he glanced away, 

While high resolve, and feeling strong, 

Burst into volimtary song. 



The heath this night must be ray bed. 
The bracken* curtain for ray head, 
My lullaby the warder's tread, 

Far, far from love and thee, Maiy ; 
To-morrow eve, more stilly laid. 
My couch may be my bloody plaid, ^ 
My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid 1 

It will not waken me, Mary ! 
I may not, dare not, fancy now 
The grief that clouds thy lovely brow 
I dare not think upon thy vow. 

And all it promised me, Mary. 
No fond regret must Norman know ; 
When bursts Clan- Alpine on the foe, 
His heart must be like bended bow, 

His foot like arrow free, Mary ! 
A time will come with feeling fraught 1 
For, if I fall in battle fought. 
Thy hapless lover's dying thought 

Shall be a thought on thee, Mary I 
And if returned from conquered foes. 
How blithely will the evening close, 
Ho-W^lrvveet the linnet sing repose 

To my young bride and me, Mary ! 

* jBrcc*onr— Fern. 



CAWTO IIL] THK LADY OF THE LAKE. 329 



Not faster o'er thy heathery braes, 
Balquidder, speeds the midnight blaze,* 
Rushing in conflagration strong. 
Thy deep ravines and dells along. 
Wrapping thy cliffs in purple glow. 
And reddening the dark lakes below ; 
Nor faster speeds it, nor so far. 
As o'er thy heaths the voice of war. 
The signal roused to martial coil 
The sullen margin of Loch-Voil, 
Waked still Loch-Doine, and to the source 
Alarmed, Balvaig, thy swampy course ; 
Thence southward turned its rapid road 
Adown Strath-Grartney's valley broad. 
Till rose in arms each man might clahtx 
A portion in Clan- Alpine's name ; 
From the grey sire, whose trembling hand 
Could hardly buckle on his brand. 
To the raw boy, whose shaft and bow 
Were yet scarce terror to the crow. 
Each valley, each sequestered glen. 
Mustered its little horde of men. 
That met as torrents from the height. 
In Highland dale their streams unite, 
Still gathering, as they pour along, 
A voice more loud, a tide more strong. 
Till at the rendezvous they stood 
By hundreds prompt for blows and blood ; 
Each trained to arms since life began. 
Owning no tie but to his clan. 
No oath, but by his Chieftain's hand,"!* 
No law, but Roderick Dhu's command. 

XXV. 

That summer mom had Roderick Dhu 
Surveyed the skirts of Ben- venue, 

* The heath on the Scottish moorlands is often set tm fire, that 
the sheep may have the advantage of the young herbage pr» 
daced in room of the tough old heather plants. This custom yro- 
duces occasionally the most beautiful nocturnal appearance, simi- 
lar almost to the discharge of a volcano. 

+ The deep and implicit respect paid by the highland clansmeB 
to their chiefs rendered this both a conmion and a solemn oath. 



330 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO lU 

And sent his scouts o'er hill and heath. 

To view the frontiers of Meuteitli. 

All backward came with news of tnice ; 

Still lay each martial Graeme and Bruce, 

In Rednock courts no horsemen wait, 

No banner waved on Cardross gate, 

On Duchray's towers no beacon shone, 

Nor scared the herons frorri Loch-Con ; 

All seemed at peace. Now, wot ye whj 

The Chieftain, with such anxious eye, 

Ere to the muster he repair. 

This western frontier scanned wth care ? — 

In Ben-venue's most darksome cleft, 

A fair, though cruel pledge was left ; 

For Douglas, to his promise true, 

That morning from the isle withdrew. 

And in a deep sequestered dell 

Had sought a low and Jonely cell. 

By many a bard in Celtic tongue, 

Has Coir-nan- Uriskin* been sung; 

A softer name the Saxon gave, 

And called the grot the Goblin-cave. 

XXVI. 

It was a wild and strange retreat, 
As e'er was trod by outlaw's feet. 
The dell, upon the mountain's cresr, 
Ya^vned like a gash on warrior's breast ; 
Its trench had stayed full many a rock, 
Hurled by primeval earthquake shock 
From Ben- venue's grey summit wild. 
And here, in random ruin piled, 
They froAvned incumbent o'er the spot. 
And formed the rugged sylvan gi-ot. 
The oak and bu-ch, wth mingled shade. 
At noontide there a twilight made, 

* This is a very steep and most romantic hoUo^r in the muuik- 
tain of Ben-venue, overhanging the south-eastf.ru extremity ol 
Loch-Katrine. It is surrounded with stupendous rocks, and over- 
shadowed ivith birch trees, mingled %\-itli inks, the spontaneoiu 
prodncti'>n of the mountain, even where its cliffs appear denuded 
of soil. The name signities, the den of the shacfgy men, and tradi- 
tion has asoi lj«J to the urisk, who gives name to the cavern, a 
fiwure between a goat and a man ; iu short, precisely that of the 
Creciau satyr. 



CANTO ULJ THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 331 

Unless when short and sudden shone 
Some straggling beam on cliff or stone. 
With such a glimpse.as prophet's eye 
Gains on thy depth, Futurity. 
No murmur waked the solemn still. 
Save tinkling of a fountain rill ; 
But when the wind chafed with the lake 
A aullen sound would upward break. 
With dashing hollow voice, that spoke 
The incessant war of wave and rock. 
Suspended cliff's, with hideous sway, 
Seemed nodding o"'er the cavern grey. 
From such a den the wolf had sprung. 
In such the wild cat leaves her young ; 
Yet Douglas and his daughter fair, 
Sought, for a space, their safety there. 
Grey Superstition s whisper dread 
Debarred the spot to vulgar tread ; 
For there, she said, did fays resort, 
And satyrs hold their sylvan court. 
By moonlight tread their mystic maze, 
And blast the rash 'beholder's gaze. 

XXVII. 

Now eve, with western shadows long, 
Floated on Katrine bright and strong. 
When Roderick, with a chosen few, 
Repassed the heights of Ben-venue. 
Above the Goblin-cave they go, 
Through the wild pass of Beal-nam-bo ;* 
The prompt retainers speed before. 
To launch the shallop trom the shore. 
For cross Loch-Katrine lies his way 
To view the passes of Achray, 
And place his clansmen in array. 
Yet lags the Chief in musing mind. 
Unwonted sight, his men behind. 
A single page, to bear his sword, 
Alone attended on his lord ; 
The rest their way through thickets bieak, 
Ajid soon await him by the lake. 

* Bealach-nam-Bo, or the pass of cattl*, is a most ma^iiflcent 
ftlade, overtning with aged birch trees, a little higher up the 
'Eountain than the Cor-nan-Uriskin. 



332 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO III. 

It was a fair and gallant sight, 

To view them from the neighbouring height, 

By the low-levelled sunbeam's light ; 

For strength and stature, from the dan 

Each warrior was a chosen man, 

As even afar might well be seen, 

By their proud step and martial mien. 

Their feathers dance, their tartans float, 

Their targets gleam, as by the boat 

A wild and warlike group they stand. 

That well became such mountain strand. 

XXVIII. 

Their Chief, with step reluctant, still 
Was lingering on the craggy hill, 
Hard by where turned apart the road 
To Douglas's obscure abode. 
It was but with that dawning mom 
That Roderick Dhu had proudly sworn. 
To drown his love in war's wild roar, 
Nor think of Ellen Douglas more ; 
But he who stems a stream with sand. 
And fetters flame with flaxen band. 
Has yet a harder task to prove — 
By firm resolve to conquer love ! 
Eve finds the Chief, like restless ghost, 
Still hovering near his treasure lost ; 
For though his haughty heart deny 
A parting meeting to his eye. 
Still fondly strains his anxious ear 
The accents of her voice to hear, 
And inly did he curse the breeze 
That waked to sound the rustling trees. 
But, hark ! what mingles in the strain ? 
It is the harp of Allan-bane, 
That wakes its measures slow and high. 
Attuned to sacred minstrelsy. 
WTiat melting voice attends the strings? 
Tia Ellen, or an angel, ainga I 

XXIX. 
HYMN TO THE VIBQIR. 

Ave Maria! maiden mild ! 
Listen to a maiden's prayer; 



CANTO ni.] XHK LA.DT OF THE T^KE. 

Thou canst hear though from the wild 

Thou canst save amidst despair. 

Safe may we sleep beneath thy care. 
Though banished, outcast, and reviled — • 

Maiden, hear a maiden's prayer ! 
Mother, hear a suppliant child ! 

Ave Maria ! 
Ave Maria ! undefiled ! 

The flinty couch we now must share, 
Shall seem with down of eider piled. 

If thy protection hover there. 

The murky cavern's heavy air 
Shall breathe of balm if thou hast smiled ; 

Then, Maiden, hear a maiden's prayer ! 
Mother, list a suppliant child ! 

Ave Maria! 
Ave Maria ! Stainless styled ! 

Foul demons of the earth and air, 
From this their wonted haunt exiled, 

Shall flee before thy presence fair. 

We bow us to our lot of care. 
Beneath thy guidance reconciled ; 

Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer ! 
And for a father hear a child ! 

Ave Maria I 

XXX. , 

Died on the harp the closing hymn — 
Unmoved in attitude and limb, 
As listening still, Clan- Alpine's lord 
Stood leaning on his heavy sword. 
Until the page, with humble sign, 
Twice pointed to the sun's decline. 
Then, while his plaid he round him cast) 
" It is the last time— 'tis the last" — 
He muttered thrice — " the last time e'er 
That angel- voice shall Roderick hear T 
It was a goading thought — his stride 
Hied hastier down the mountain side ; 
Sullen he flung him in the boat, 
And instant cross the lake it shot. 
They landed in that silvery bay, 
And eastward held their hiasty way. 



I 



334 ''■ THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTQ IF. 

Till, with the latest beams of light, 
The band arrived on Lanrick height, 
Where mustered in the vale below. 
Clan- Alpine's men in martial show. 

XXXI. 

A various scene the clansmen made, 

Some sate, some stood, some slowly strayed; 

But most, with mantles folded round. 

Were couched to rest upon the ground. 

Scarce to be kno\vn by curious eye, ^ 

From the deep heather whei-e they lie. 

So well was matched the tartan screen 

With heath-bell dark and brackens green; 

Unless where, here and there, a-blade,^ ■ ■.•■•• 

Or lance's point, a glimmer made, 

Like glow-worm twinkling through the shade. 

But, when, advancing through the gloom, 

They saw the Chieftain's eagle plume. 

Their shout of welcome, shrill and wide, 

Shook the steep mountain's steady side. 

Thrice it arose, and lake and fell 

Three times returned the martial yell. 

It died upon Bochastle's plain. 

And Silence claimed her evening reign. 



CANTO FOURTH. 
I. 

" The rose is fairest when 'tis budding new. 

And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears , 
The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew. 
And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears. 
Oh wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears, 
I bid your blossoms in ray bonnet wave. 
Emblem of hope and love through future years 1" 
Thus spoke young Nonnan, heir of Armandave, 
What time dio sun arose on Vennachar's broad wavei 



CANTO rVJ THE LADY UK XH£ LAKE. 
II. 

Such fond conceit, half said, half sun?, : .. 

Love prompted to the bridegroom's tongue. 

All while he stripped the wild-rose sjM'ay, 

His axe and bow beside him lay 

For on a pass 'twixt lake and weed, 

A wakeful sentinel he stood. 

llark ! — on the rock a footstep rang, 

Ai;d instant to his arms he sprung. 

" Stand, or thou diest ! — What, Malise ,''- — Booa 

Art thou returned from Braes of Doune. '■ , 

By thy keen step and glance I know, ' 

Thou bring'st us tidings of the foe.*' ■ 

(For while the Fiery Cross hied on, 

On distant scout had Malise gone.) - 

" Where sleeps the Chief?" the henchman 8ad& 

"Apart, in yonder misty glade; 

To his lone couch I'll be your guide," 

TheE. called a slumberer by his side. 

And stirred him with his slackened bow — 

" Up, up, Glentarkin ! rouse thee, ho ! 

We seek the Chieftain ; on the track, 

Keep eagle watch till I couie back." 



Together up the pass they sped : 

" What of the foeman ?'" Norman said. 

"• Varying reports from near and far ; 

This certain — that a band of war 

Has for two days been ready boune. 

At prompt command, to march from Doune; 

King James, the while, with princely powers. 

Holds revelry in Stirling towers. 

Soon will this dark and gathering cloud 

Speak on our glens in thunder loud. 

Inured to bide such bitter bout, 

The warrior's plaid may bear it odt; 

But, Norman, how wilt thou provide 

A shelter for thy bonny bride '^'^ 

" What! know ye not that Roderick's caxB 

To the lone isle hath caXi|ed repair 

Each maid and matron '6f the clan^ 

And every child and aged mzzi 



335 



336 THE LADY OP THB LAKE. [CAN . t, . 

Unfit for arms? and given his charge, 
Nor skiff nor shallop, boat nor barge, 
Upon these lakes shall float at large, 
But all beside the islet moor, 
That such dear pledge may rest secure ?" 

XV, 
*' 'Tis -well advised— the Chieftain's plan 
Bespeaks the father of his clan. 
Bat wherefore sleeps Sir Roderick Dhn 
Apart from all his followers true ?" 
" It is, because last evening-tide 
Brian an augury hath tried. 
Of that dread kind which must not be 
Unless in dread extremity. 
The Taghairm* called ; by which, afar. 
Our sires foresaw the events of war. 

Duncraggan's milk-white bull they slew •• 

MALISE. 
" Ah ! well the gallant brute I knew, 
The choicest of the prey we had. 
When swept our meny-men Gallangad. 
His hide was snow, his horns were dark, 
His red eye glowed like fiery spark ; 
So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet. 
Sore did he cumber our retreat, 
And kept our stoutest kernes in awe. 
Even at the pass of Beal 'maha. 
But steep and flinty was the road, 
And sharp the hurrying pikeman's goad. 
And when we came to Denuan's Row, 
A chUd might scatheless stroke his brow." 
V. 
NORMAN. 

"That bull was slain; his reeking hide 
J hey stretched the cataract beside, 

w^^he "tw^v."™'* •'a"**'* **' **** nighlaad mode, of dinnatioo 
was the Taqhatrm. A person was ^vrapped up iu the ekln ofn 
?th':7;^iT^"i^'"'=''' "^^ depcited beside Vv^te?-fall, or taWS 
other wild, and unusual situation, where he revolved In 1^ S 
hu ^"m/T-P"""'^*^'^ ^'l whatever was imnres8ed uj^n hiS^ 
hr1i!p^^^'^»"^7^w°"' P*"'^ f""- 'he in8p{rationof^S.^^iJ 
bedied spirus which haunt these desolate r-"~- — oaaa- 



CANTO XV.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 387 

Whose waters their wild tumult toss 

Adown the black and craggy boss 

Of that huge cliflF, whose ample verge 

Tradition calls the Hero's Targe.* 

Couched on a shelve beneath its brink. 

Close where the thundering torrents siokf 

Rocking beneath their headlong sway, 

And drizzled by the ceaseless spray, 

Midst groan of rock, and roar of stream, 

Tlie wizard waits prophetic dream. 

Nor distant rests the Chief : — ^but hush ! 

See, gliding slow through mist and bush. 

The Hermit gains yon rock, and stands 

To gaze upon our slmnbering bands. 

Seems he not, Malise, like a ghost. 

That hovers o'er a slaughtered host? 

Or raven on the blasted oak. 

That, watching while the deer is broke. 

His morsel claims with suUen croak P^i" 

" Peace ! peace ! to other than to me. 

Thy words were evil augurv; 

But still I hold Sir Roderick's blade 

Clan- Alpine's omen and her aid. 

Not aught that, gleaned from heaven or ImIL 

Yon fiend-begotten monk can teU. 

The Chieftain joins him, see — ^and now, 

Together they descend the brow." 

VI. 

And, as they came with Alpine's Lord 
The Hermit Monk held solemn word : 
** Roderick ! it is a fearful strife. 
For man endowed with mortal life, 
Whose shroud of sentient clay can still 
Feel feverish pang and fainting chill, 

» There is a rock so named in the forest of GlenfinlM, by vhiet 
% tumultuary cataract takes its course. 

t III cutting up, or, as it was technically called, breaking ttw 
slaughtered stag, the forester had his allotted portion ; the hounds 
had a certain allowance; and, to make the division as general sm 
possible, the very birds had their share also. " There is a little 
gristle," says Tuberville, " which is upon the spoone of the briskeu, 
which we call the raven's bone ; and I have seen in some placet 
a raven so wont and accustomed to it, that she would never fail 
to croak aad cry for it all tlie time you were in breaking up of the 
d«t, MMl would not depart tiE she had it." 
P 



338 THE LADY OF IHE LAKK [CilWTO IV. 

Whose eye can stare in stony trance. 

Whose liair can rouse like warrior's lancfr— 

'Tis hard for such to view, unfurl'd. 

The curtain of the future world. 

Yet witness every quaking limb, 

My sunken pulse, miue eyeballs dim, 

My soul with harrowing anguish torn. 

This for ray Chieftain ha^e I borne ! 

The shapes that sought my fearful couch. 

An human tongue may ne'er avouch 

No mortal man — save he, who, bred 

Between the living and the dead. 

Is gifted beyond nature's law, 

Had e'er survived to say he saw. 

At length the fateful answer came, 

In characters of living flame ! 

Not apoKe in word, nor blazed in scroll, 

But borne and branded on rby soul ; — 

Which spills the foremost foeman's litb, 

TH A.T PA RTY CO.N«iUERS IN TUE STRl FE."* 



*• Thanks, Brian, for thy zeal and care ! 
Good is thine augury, and fair. 
Clan- Alpine ne'er in battle stood. 
But first our broad-swords tasted blood. 
A surer victim still I know. 
Self-offered to the auspicious blow : 
A spy hath sought my land this morn, 
No eve shall witness his return ! 
My followers guard each pass's mouth, 
To east, to westwai-d, and to south ; 
Red Murdoch, bribed to be his guide, 
Has charge to lead his steps aside, 
Till, in deep path or dingle brown, 
He light on those shall bring him doAvn. 
But see, who comes his news to show ! 
Malise ! what tidings of the foe i*" 

• This wag an ana:nr%' frequently attended to. It is said that 
the Highliiuilers under Ivfontrose were b" deeply imbned witli the 
notion, that on the mmiiiiig of the battle of Tippermoor, they 
murdered a defenceleHU herdsman, merely to secure this advao* 
lage. 



CAKTO 1V.3 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 

VIII, 

" At Doune, o'er many ri spear and glaive. 

Two Barons proud their banners wave. 

I saw the Moray's silver star, 

And marked the sable pale of Mar." 

'' By Alpine's soul, high tidings those ! 

I love to hear of worthy foes. 

When move they on?" " To-morrow's noOQ 

Will see them here for battle boune." 

" Then shall it see a meeting stem ! — 

But, for the place — say, couldst thou learn 

Nought of the friendly clans of Earn ? 

Strengthened by them we well might bide 

The battle on Benledi's side. 

Thou couldst not? — well ! Clan- Alpine's men 

Shall man the Trosachs' shagg}' glen ; 

Within Loch- Katrine's gorge we'll tight. 

All in our maids' and matrons' sight. 

Each for his hearth and household hre, 

Father for child, and sou for siie — 

Lover for maid beloved ! — but why — 

Is it the breeze affects mine eye? 

Or dost thou come, ill-omeu'd tear ! 

A messenger of doubt or fear ? 

No I sooner may the Saxon lance 

Unfix Benledi from his stance. 

Than doubt or terror can pierce through 

The unyielding heart of Roderick Dhu ; 

'Tis stubborn as his trusty targe. 

Each to his post! — all know their charge.'^ 

The pibroch sounds, the bands advance, 

J'he broad-swords gleam, the banners danofiy 

Obedient to the Chieftain's glance 

I turn me from the martial roar. 

And seek Coir-Uriskin once more. 

IX. 

Where is the Douglas ? — he is gone; 
And Ellen sits on the grey stone 
Fast by the cave, and makes her moaa; 
While vainly Allan's words of cheer 
Ai'e poured on her unheeding ear. 



340 THE LADT OF THE LAKE. [OAJtro VT, 

" He will return — dear lady, trust ! — 
With joy return ; he -will — he must ! 
Well warf it time to seek afar 
Some refuge from impending war, 
When e'en Clan- Alpine's rugged swarm 
Are cow'd by the approaching storm. 
I saw their boats, with many a light, 
Floating the live-long yesternight. 
Shifting like flashes daxted forth 
By the red streamers of the north ; 
I marked at mom how close they ride. 
Thick moored by the lone islet's side. 
Like wild ducks couching in the fen, 
When stoops the hawk upon the glen. ► 
Since this rude race dare not abide 
The peril on the mainland side, 
Shall not thy noble father's care 
Some safe retreat for thee prepare ?" 

X. 

" No, Allan, no 1 Pretext so kind 
My walceful terrors could not blind. 
WTien in such tender tone, yet grave, 
Douglas a parting blessing gave. 
The tear that glistened in his eye 
DroisTied not his purpose fixed and high* 
My soul, though feminine and weak, 
Can image his ; e'en as the lake, 
Itself disturbed by slightest stroke, 
Reflects the invulnerable rock. 
He hears reports of battle rife, 
He deems himself the cause of strife. 
I saw him redden, when the theme 
Turned, Allan, on thine idle dream. 
Of Malcolm Graeme in fetters bound, 
Which I, thou said'st, about him woimd. 
Think' St thou he trow'd thine omen augfatf 
Oh no ! 'twas apprehensive thought 
For the kind youth — ^for Roderick too — 
(Let me be just) that friend so true ; 
In danger both, and in our cause ! 
Minstrel, the Douglas dare not pause. 
Why else that solemn warning given, 
*If not on earth we meet in heaven r 



CAWTO IV.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE 341 

Why else, to Cambus-kenneth's fane^ 
If eve return him not again. 
Am I to hie and make me known? 
Alas ! he goes to Scotland's throne, 
Buys Ills friends' safety with his own ; 
He goes to do — what I had done, 
Had Douglas' daughter been his son P 

XI. 

'* Nay, lovely Ellen ! — dearest, nay ! 

If aught should his return delay, 

He only named yon holy fane 

As fitting place to meet again. 

Be sure he's safe ; and for the Grseme, 

Heaven's blessing on his gallant name! 

My visioned sight may yet prove true. 

Nor bode of ill to him or you. 

When did my gifted dream beguile? 

Think of the stranger at the isle, 

And think upon the harpings slow, 

That presaged this approaching woe ! 

Sooth was my prophecy of fear ; 

Believe it when it augurs cheer. 

Would we had left this dismal spot ! 

Ill luck still haunts a fairy grot. 

Of such a wond'rous tale I know — 

Dear lady, change that look of woe ! 

My heart was wont thy grief to cheer ■* 

ELLEN. 

" Well, be it as thou wilt ; I hear. 
But cannot stop the bursting tear." 
The Minstrel tried his simple art. 
But distant far was Ellen's heart. 

2UI. 

BALLAD. 
A1.10X Bband.V 

Merry it is in the good green wood, 

When the mavisf' and merlej are singing, 

* This litde fairy tale is foanded upon a very curious Danish 
balUd, which occurs in the Kiempe Visbb, a collection of heroio 
tonga, first published in 1591, and reprinted in 1695. 
t Thrush, J Blackbird. 



342 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. lCAJJTO iV. 

When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry , 
And the hunter's horn is ringing. 

" Oh Alice Brand ! my native land 

Is lost for love of you ; 
And we must hold by wood and wold, 

As outlaws wont to do.^ 

" Oh Alice ! 'twas all for thy locks bo bright, 

And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue, 
That on the night of our luckless flight, 

Thy brother bold I slew. 

" Now must I teach to hew the beech, 

The hand that held the glaive. 
For leaves to spread our lowly bed, 
■ And stakes to fence our cave. 

" And for vest of pall, thy fingers small, 

That wont on harp to stray, 
A cloak must shear from the slaughtered deer 

To keep the cold away." 

" Oh Richard ! if my brother died, 

'Twas but a fatal chance ; 
For darkling was the battle tried. 

And Fortune sped the lance. 

" If pall and vair no more I wear, 

Nor thou the crimson sheen, 
As warm, we'll say, is the russet grey, 

As e;ay the forest-green. 

" And, Richard, if our lot be hard. 

And lost thy native land, 
Still Alice has her own Richard, 

And he his Alice Brand." 



XIII. 

BALLAD — continued, 

'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good green wood, 

So blithe Lady Alice is singing ; 
On the beech's pride, and the oak's brown sida^ 

Lord Richard's axe is ringing. 



CANTO IV.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 343 

Up spoke the moody Elfin King, 

\Vlio won d within the hill — * 
Like wind in the porch of a ruined church, 

His voice was ghostly shrill. 

" Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak, 

Our moonlight circle's screen? 
Or who comes here to chase the deer, 

Beloved of our Eliin Queen? 
Of who may dare on wold to wear 

The fairy's fatal green .'H' 
" Up, Urgan, up ! to yon mortal hie. 

For thou wert christened man ; J 
For cross or sign thou wilt not fly, 

For muttered word or ban. 

" Lay on him the. curse of the withered heart, 

The curse of the sleepless eye ; 
Till he -wish and pray that his life would part, 

Nor yet find leave to die." 

XIV. 

BALLAD — cotitinued. 
'Tis meny, 'tis merrj', in good green wood. 

Though the birds have stillecf their singing ; 
The evening blaze doth Alice raise. 

And Richard is faggots bringing. 

Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf 

Before Lord Richard stands. 
And, as he crossed and blessed himself, 
" I fear not sign," quoth the grisly elf, 

" That is made with bloody hands." 

*--The Daoine ShV, or men of peace of the Hig-Iilanders, are De- 
lieved to hitiabit certain round grassy eniineiices, where they 
celebrate their nocturnal festunties by the light of the mooii. 
Many, it is said, of nifirtal race have been entertained in their se- 
cret recesses; but unhappy is the mortal ivho joins in their joys, 
or reotnres to p.trtuke or their dainties. By this iudnlgence, lie 
forfeits for ever the society of men, and isboiiiid down irrevocably 
to the condition of a Shi'ich, or man of peac& 

+ As the danine shi, or men of peace, wore ^''een habits, they 
were supposed to take offence when any mortals ventured to a»- 
•mn.e their favourite co'our. 

J The elves were supposed greatly to envy the privileges ac- 
quired by Christian initiation, and they gave to those mortals who 
k»d ^Ulen into their power, a certain jprecedeuce, founded upop 
thia advantageona distinctioiL 



344 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CAKtOT^. 

But out then spoke she, Alice Brand, 

That woman void of fear — 
" And if there's blood upon his hand, 

'Tis hut the blood of deer." 

" Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood I 

It cleaves unto his hand, 
The stain of thine own kindly blood. 

The blood of Ethert Brand." 

Then forward stepp'd she, Alice Brand, 

And made the holy sign — 
" And if there's blood on Richard's hand, 

A spotless hand is mine. 

" And I conjure thee, Demon elf, 

By Him whom Demons fear. 
To show us whence thou art thyself .' 

And what thine errand here?" 

XV, 

BALLAD — continued. 

** 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in Fairy-land, 

When fairy birds are singing, 
When the court doth ride by their monarch's cde^ 

With bit and bridle ringing : 

"And gaily shines the Fairy land — 

But all is glistening show. 
Like the idle gleam that December's beam 

Can dart on ice and snoAv. 

" And fading, like that varied gleam, 

Is our inconstant shape, 
Who now like knight and lady seem. 

And now like dwarf and ape. 

** It was between the night and day, 

When the Fairy King has power, 
That I sank down in a sinful fray. 
And, 'twixt life and death, was snatched a,ynkj 

To the joyless Elfin bower.* 

• The subjects of Fairy- land were recruited from the regionf of 
humanity, so that maiiy of those who were in this world vuppos^ 
to have discharged the debt of nature, had only become deniaeDi 
•f the "Londe of Fivery." 



CAN"'0 IV.j 'CUB LADY OF THE LAKE. 

" But wist 1 of a -woman bold, 

Who thrice my brow durst sign, 
I might regain my mortal mold 

As fair a form as thine." 
She crossed him once — she crossed him twio9— 

That lady was -so brave ; 
The fouler grew his goblin hue, 

The darker grew the cave. 

She crossed him thrice, that lady hold : 

He rose beneath her hand 
The fairest knight on Scottish mold. 

Her brother, Ethert Brand ! 

Merry it is in the good green wood, 
\ATien the mavis and merle are singing, 

But merrier were they in Dunfermline grey, 
When all the bells were ringing. 



Just as the minstrel sounds were staid, 
A stranger climbed the steepy glade ; 
His martial step, his stately mien, 
His hunting suit of Lincoln green. 
His eagle glance remembrance claims — 
'Tis Snowdoim's Knight — 'tis James Fitz^amet 
Ellen beheld as in a dream, 
Then starting, scarce suppressed a scream : 
" Oh stranger ! in such hour of fear. 
What evil hap has brought thee here?" 
" An evil hap how can it be, 
That bids me look again on thee.'^ 
By promise bound, my former guide 
Met me betimes this morning tide, 
And marshall'd, over bank and bourne, 
The happy path of my return." 
*' The happy path ! — what ! said he nought 
Of war, ot battle to be fought, 
Of guarded pass?" — " No, by my faith I 
Nor saw I aught could augur scathe." 
" Oh haste thee, Allan, to the kern 
— Yonder his tartans I discern ; 
Learn thou his purpose, and conjiuo 
That he will guide the stranger sure I — 
p2 



345 



846 THJE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CAKTO Vt 

What ])rompted thee, unhappy man? 
The meanest serf in Roderick's clan 
Had not been bribed by love or fear, 
Unknovm to hira, to gxiide thee heitj." 

XVII. 

** Sweet Ellen, dear my life must be, 

Since it is worthy care from thee ; 

Yet life I hold but idle breath. 

When love or honour's weighed with death. 

Then let me profit by my chance,. 

And speak my purpose bold at once. 

I come to bear thee from a wild, 

Where ne'er before such blossom smiled; 

By this soft hand to lead thee far 

From frantic scenes of feud and war. 

Near Bochastle my horses wait ; 

They bear us soon to Stirling gate. 

I'll place thee in a lovely bower, 

I'll guard thee like a tender flower " 

" Oh ! hush. Sir Knight ! twere female art 

To say 1 do not read thy heart ; 

Too "much, before, my selfish ear 

Was idly soothed my praise to hear. 

That fatal bait hath lured thee back, 

In deathful hour, o'er dingerous track 

And how, oh how, can I atone 

The wreck my vanity brought on ! 

One way remains — I'' 11 tell him all — 

Yes ! struggling bosom, forth it shall ! 

Thou, whose light folly bears the blame. 

Buy thine own pardon with thj shame ! 

But first — ^my father is a man 

Outlawed and esiled, under ban ', 

The price of blood is on his head. 

With me 'twere infamy to wed. 

Still would'st thou speak? — then hest the trutll! 

Fitz- James, there is a noble youth — 

If yet he is ! — exposed for me 

And mine to dread extremity — 

Thou hast the secret of my heart ; 

Forgive, be generous, and depart.'* 



CANTO IV.] THK LADY OF THE LAKE. 347 
XTIII. 

Fitz-James knew every wily train 

A lady's fickle heart to gain. 

But here he knew and felt them vain. 

There shot no glance from Ellen's eye, ■ 

To give her steadfast speech the lie ; 

In maiden confidence she stood. 

Though mantled in her cheek the blood. 

And told her love with such a sigh 

Of deep and hopeless agony, 

As death had sealed her Malcolm's doom. 

And she sat sorrowing on his tomb. 

Hope vanished from Fitz-James's eye, 

But not with hope tied sympathy. 

He proffered to attend her side. 

As brother would a sister guide. 

" Oh ! little knowest thou Roderick's heart ! 

Safer for both we go apart. 

Oh haste thee, and from Allan learn. 

If thou may'st trust yon wily kern." 

With hand upon his forehead laid, 

The conflict of his mind to shade, 

A parting step or two he made ; 

Then, as some thought had crossed his brain. 

He paused, and turned, and came again. 



'• Hear, lady, yet, a parting word ! — 
It chanced in fight that my poor sword 
Preserved the life of Scotland's lord. 
This ring the grateful Monarch gave. 
And bade, when I had boon to crave, 
To bring it back, and boldly claim 
The recompense that I would name. 
Ellen, I am no courtly lord, 
But one who lives by lance and sword. 
Whose castle is his helm and shield. 
His lordship, the embattled field. 
What from a prince can I demand. 
Who neither reck of state nor land? 
Ellen, thy hand — the ring is thine ; 
Each guarU and usher knows the sign. 



B48 THK LADY OP THE LAKB. CCANTO IV. 

Seek thou the king without delay; 

This si^iet shall secure thy way ; 

And claim thy suit, whate'er it be, 

As ransom of his pledge to me." 

He placed the golden circlet on, 

Paused — kissed her hand — and then was goiiA. 

The aged Minstrel stood aghast, 

So hastily Fitz-J ames shot past. 

He joined his guide, and wending down 

The ridges of the mountain brown, 

Across the stream they took their way, 

That joins Loch-Katrine to Achray* 



All in the Trosachs' glen was still, 
Noontide was sleeping on the hill : 
Sudden his guide whooped loud and high— 
" Murdoch ! was that a signal cry?'' 
He stammered forth — " I shout to scare 
Yon raven from his dainty fare." 
He looked — he knew the raven's prey. 
His own brave steed: — " Ah ! gallant grey 1 
For thee — for me perchance — 'twere well 
We ne'er had seen the Trosachs' dell. 
Murdoch, move first — but silently ; _ 
Whistle or whoop, and thou shalt die." 
Jealous and sullen on they fared. 
Each silent, each upon his guardL 

XXI. 

Now wound the path its dizzy ledge 
Around a precipice's edge. 
When lo ! a v/asted female form. 
Blighted by wrath of sun and storm, 
In tattered weeds and wild array, 
Stood on a cliff beside the way. 
And glancing round her restless eye 
Upon the wood, the rock, the sky, 
Seemed nought to mark, yet all to spy. 
Her brow was wreathed with gaudy broCIBt 
With gesture wild she waved a plume 
Of feathers, which the eagles fling 
To crag and cliff from dusky wing; 



CANTO IV.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 349 

Such spoils her desperate step had sought, 
"Where scarce was footing for the goat. 
The tartan plaid she first descried, 
And shrieked, till all the rocks replied; 
As loud she laughed when near they drew, 
For then the lowland garb she knew; 
And then her hands she wildly wrung, 
And then she wept, and then she sung. 
She sung ! — the vx)ice, in better time, 
Perchance to hai-p or lute might chime; 
And now, though strained and roughened, still 
Rung wildly sweet to dale and hill. 



*'They bid me sleep, they bid me pray, 

They say my brain is warped and wnmg- 
I cannot sleep on highland brae, 

I cannot pray in highland tongue. 
But were I now where Allan glides, 
Or heard my native De van's tides, 
So sweetly would I rest and pray 
That heaven would close my wintery day! 

" Twas thus my hair they bade me brai«l. 

They bade me to the church repair; 
It was my bridal mom, they said. 

And my true love would meet me there. 
But woe betide the cruel guile, 
That drowned in blood the morning smilol 
And "Woe betide the fairy dream ! 
I only waked to sob and scream." 

xxin. 

"Who is this maid? what means her lay? 
She hovers o'er the hollow way. 
And flutters wide her mantle grey, 
As the lone heron spreads his wing, 
3y twilight, o'er a haunted spring." 
'"Tis Blanche of Devan," Murdoch said, 
"A crazed and captive lowland maid, 
Ta'en on the morn she was a bride. 
When Roderick forayed Devan-side. 



350 THE LADy jf the lake, ccanto IV. 

The gay brldegroojn resistance made, 

And felt our Chief's unconquered blade. 

I marvel she is now at large, 

But oft she 'scapes from Maudlin's charge; 

Hence, biuin-sick fool !" He raised his bow 

"Now, if thou strik'st her but one blow, 

I'll pitch thee from the clitf as far 

As ever peasant pitched a bar," 

"Thanks, champion, thanks!" the Ma,niac cried. 

And pressed her to Fitz-James's side, 

" See the grey pennons I prepare, 

To seek my tnie-love through the air ! 

I will not lend that savage groom. 

To break his fall, one downy plume ! 

No! — deep amid disjointed stones, 

The wolves shall batten on his bones, 

And then shall his detested plaid, 

By bush and briar in mid-air staid. 

Wave forth a banner fair and free, 

Meet signal for their revelry." 



"Hush thee, poor maiden, and be atilll" 
"Oh! thou look'st kindly, and I will. 
Mine eve has dried and wasted been, 
But still it loves the Lincoln green; 
And, though mine ear is all unstrung. 
Still, still it loves the lowland tongue. 

For oh my sweet William was forester true. 
He stole poor Blanche's heart away! 

His coat it was all oi the greenwood hue, 
And so blithely he trilled the lowland lay ? , 

It was not that I meant to tell... 
But thou art wise, and guessest welL" 
Then, in a low and broken tone. 
And hurried note, the song went on. 
Still on the Clansman, feaifully, 
She fixed her apprehensive eye; 
Then turned it on the Knight, and then 
Her look glanced wildly o'er the glen. 



CANTO rV.] THE LADY OF THE JAKE. 



351 



XXV. 
*' The toils are pitched, and the stakes are set, 

Ever sing merrily, men-ily; 
The bows they bend, and the knives they vrhet 
Hunters live so cheerily. 

" It -vras a stag, a stag of ten,* 

Bearing his branches sturdily; 
He came stately down the glen. 

Ever sing hardily, hardily. 

" It was there he met with a wounded doo^ 

She was bleeding deathfuUy; 
She warned him of the toils below, 

Oh so faithfully, faithfully! 

" He had an eye, and he could heed, 

Ever sing warily, warily; 
He had a foot, and he could speed — 
Hunters watch so narrowly. ' 

XXVI. 

Fitz-Jaraes's mind was passion-toss*d. 
When Ellen's hints and fears were lost; 
But Murdoch's shout suspicion wrought, 
And Blanche's song conviction brought. 
Not like a stag that spies the snare, 
But lion of the hunt aware, 
He waved at once his blade on high, 
"Disclose thy treachery, or die!" 
Forth at full speed the Clansman flew. 
But in his race his bow he drew: 
The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's crest, 
And thrilled in Blanche's faded breast 
Murdoch of Alpine ! prove thy speed. 
For ne'er had Alpine's son such need! 
W ith heart of fire, and foot of wind, 
The fierce avenger is behind! 
Fate judges of the rapid strife — 
The forfeit, death — the prize is lifel 
Thy kindred ambush lies before, 
Close couched upon the heathery moor; 

* Having ten branches on hia 



352 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. CCxVNTO IV. 

Them couldst thou reach — it may not be — • 
Thine ambushed kin thou ne'er shalt see, 
The fiery Saxon gains on thee ! 
Resistless speeds the deadly thrust, 
As lightning strikes the pine to dust; 
With foot and hand Fitz-James must straill. 
Ere he can -win his blade again. 
Bent o'er the fall'n, with falcon eye, 
He grimly smiled to see him die ; 
Then slower wended back his way 
Where the poor maiden bleeding lay. 

XXVII. 

She sate beneath the birchen tree, 

Her elbow resting on her knee ; 

She had withdrawn the fatal shaft, 

And gazed on it, and feebly laughed 

Her wreath of broom and feathers grey. 

Daggled with blood, beside her lay. 

The Knight to stanch the life- stream tried— 

"Stranger, it is in vain!" she cried; 

"This hour of death has given me more 

Of reason's power than years before ; 

For, as these ebbing veins decay, 

My frenzied visions fade away. 

A helpless injured wretch 1 die, 

And something tells me in thine eye, 

That thou wert mine avenger bom. 

Seest thou this tress? Oh! still I've worn 

This little tress of yellow hair, 

Through danger, frenzy, and despair ! 

It once was bright and clear as thine. 

But blood and tears have dimmed its shineu 

I will not tell thee when 'twas shred, 

Nor from what guiltless victim's head — 

My brain would turn ! — but it shall wave 

Like plumage on thy helmet brave, 

Till sun and wind shall bleach the stain. 

And thou will bring it me again. 

I waver still ! — Oh God ! more bright 

Let Reason beam her parting light ! — 

Oh ! by thy knighthood's honoured sign. 

And for thy life preserved by miiie. 



CANTO IV.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 353 

WTien thou shalt see a darksome man. 
Who boasts him Chief of Alpine's clan. 
With tartans broad and shadowy plume. 
And hand of blood, and brow of gloom, 
Be thy heart bold, thy weapon strong. 
And ^vl•eak poor Blanche of De van's "vvrong! — 
They watch for thee by pass and fell . . . 
Avoid the path ... Oh God ! . . . farewell !" 



A kindly heart had brave Fitz-James, 

Fast poured his eye at pity's claims; 

And now, with mingled grief and ire, 

He saw the murdered maid expire. 

"God, in my need, be my relief, 

As I ^vreak this on yonder Chief!" — 

A lock from Blanche's tresses fair 

He blended with her bridegroom's hair ; 

The mingled braid in blood he dyed, 

And placed it on his bonnet side : 

" By Him whose word is trath ! I swear 

No other favour will I wear, 

Till this sad token I embnie 

In the best blood of Roderick Dhu ! 

But hark ! what means yon faint halloo ? 

ITie chase is up — but they shall know, 

The stag at bay's a dangerous foe." 

Barred from the knowTi but guarded way, 

Through copse and clitfs Fitz-James must stray^ 

And oft must change his desperate track. 

By stream and precipice turned back. 

Heartless, fatigued, and faint, at length, 

From lack of food and loss of strength, 

He couch'd him in a thicket hoar, 

And thought his toils and perils o'er : — 

" Of all my rash adventures past. 

This frantic feat will prove the last ! 

Who e'er so mad but might have guess'd, 

That all this highland hornet's nest 

Would muster up in swarms s i soon 

As e'er they heard of bands at Doune ? 

Like bloodhounds now they search me out— • 

Hark, to the whistle and the shout ! 



354 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. CCANTO !▼. 

If farther through the wilds I gOy 
I only fall upon the foe ; 
ni couch me here till evening grey, 
Then darkling try my dangerous "way. 

XXIX. 

The shades of eve come slowly down, 

The woods are wi-apped in deeper brown. 

The owl awakens from her dell. 

The fox is heard upon the fell ; 

Enough remains of glimmering light 

To guide the wanderer's steps aright, 

Yet not enough from far to show 

His figure to the watchful foe. 

With cautious step, and ear awake, 

He climbs the crag and threads the brake ; 

And not the summer solstice, there. 

Temper d the midnight mountain air. 

But every breeze that swept the wold. 

Benumbed his drenched limbs with cold. 

In dread, in danger, and alone. 

Famished and chilled, through ways unknoTra, 

Tangled and steep, he jourueyM on ; 

Till, as a rock's huge point he turned, 

A watch-fire close before him burned, 

XXX. 

Beside its embers red and clear, 

Basked, in his plaid, a mountaineer ; 

And up he sprung with sword in hand — 

" Thy name and purpose ! Saxon, stand T' 

" A stranger." "• What dost thou require T' 

" Rest and a guide, and food and fire. 

My life's beset, my path is lost. 

The gale has chilled my limbs with frost.** 

" Art thou a friend to Roderick !" " No." 

" Thou darest not call thyself a foe ?" 

" I dare ! to him and all the bajid 

He brings to aid his murderous hand." 

" Bold words ! — but, though the beast of game 

The privilege of chase may claim, 

Though space and law the stag we lend, 

Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend, 



CANTO IV.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 355 

Who ever reck'd, -where, how, or when, 

The prowling fox was trapped or slain ?* 

Thus, treacherous scouts — yet sure they lie, 

Who say thou cam'st a secret spy !" 

" They do, by Heaven ! Come Roderick Dho, 

And of his clan the boldest two. 

And let me but till morning rest, 

I write the falsehood on their crest." 

" If by the blaze I mark aright. 

Thou bear'Bt the belt and spur of Knight." 

" Then, by these tokens may'st thou know. 

Each proud oppressor's mortal foe." 

*' Enough, enough ; sit do-\vn and share 

A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare." 



He gave him of his highland cheer. 

The hardened flesh of mountain deer ;+ 

Dry fuel on the fire he laid. 

And bade the Saxon share his plaid. 

He tended him like welcome guest, . . 

Then thus his further speech addressed ; 

" Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu 

A clansman bom, a kinsman true ; 

Elach word against his honour spoke, 

Demands of me avenging stroke ; 

Yet more - -upon thy fate, 'tis said, 

A mighty augurj' is laid. 

It rests with me to wind my horn, 

Thou art with numbers overborne ; 

It rests with me, here, brand to brand, 

Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand : 

But nor for clan nor kindred's cause. 

Will I depart from honour's laws : 

« Saint John actually used this illustration when eugiufed m 
eoiitutina: the plea of law proposed tor the unfortunate Eail cj 
Strafforcl :— '•It was true, we give laws tc hares and deer, because 
they are beasts of chase ; Ijut it was never accounted either cruelty 
or foul play to knock foxes or wolves on the head as they ca» be 
found, because they are beasts of prey." 

1 The Scottish Highlanders, in former times, devoured their 
venison raw, without any further preparation than compressing 
it between two batons of wood, so as to force out the blood, and 
fender it exttemely hard. This they reokoned a great delicacy 



356 THE LADY OF THB LAKE. [CAWTO "V. 

To assail a wearied man were shame, 

A stranger is a holy name ; 

Gruidance and rest, and food and fire. 

In vain he never must require. 

Then rest thee here till dawn of day ; 

Myself will guide thee on the way, 

O er stock and stone, through watch and -ward, 

Till past Clan Alpine's outmost guard, 

As tar as Coilantogle's ford — 

From thence thy warrant is thy sword." 

" I take thy courtesy, by Heaven, 

As freelj as 'tis nobly given !" 

" Well, rest thee ; for the bittern's cry 

Sings us the lake's wild lullaby." 

With that he shook the gathered heath. 

And spread his plaid upon the wreath ; 

And the brave foemen, side by side. 

Lay peaceful down like brothers tried, 

And slept until the dawning beam 

Purpled the mountain and the stream. 



CANTO FIFTH. 



Fair as the earliest beam of eastern light, 
When first, by the bewildered pilgrim spied. 

It smiles upon the dreary brow of night. 
And silvers o'er the torrent's foaming tide. 
And lights the fearful path on mountain side ; 

Fair as that beam, although the fairest far, 
Giving to horror grace, to danger pride, 

Shine martial Faith, and Courtesy's bright star. 

Through all the wreckfu] storms that cloud the brow 
of war. 



That early beam, so fair and sheen. 
Was twinkling through the hazel screen, 



CANTO v.] THE LADY OF THE LAKB. 

When, rousing; at its glimmer red. 
The warriors left their lowly bed. 
Looked out upon the dappled sky, 
Muttered their soldier matins by, 
And then awaked their fire, to st€al, 
As short and rude, their soldier meaJ, 
That o'er, the Gael* around him threw 
His graceful plaid of varied hue, 
And, true to promise, led the way, 
By thicket green and moimtain grey. 
A wildering path ! they winded now 
Along the precipice's brow, 
Commanding the rich scenes beneath. 
The windings of the Forth and Teith, 
And all the vales between that lie. 
Till Stirling's turrets melt in sky ; 
Then, sunk in copse, their farthest glance 
Gained not the length of horseman's lance. 
'Twas oft so steep, the foot was fain 
Assistance from the hand to gain ; 
So tangled oft, that, bursting through, 
Each hawthorn shed her showers of dew — 
That diamond dew, so pure and clear. 
It rivals all but Beauty's tear ! 



At length they came where, stern and steep, 
The hill sinks down upon the deep. 
Here Vennachar in silver flows, 
There, ridge on ridge, Benledi rose ; 
Ever the hollow path twined on. 
Beneath steep bank and threatening stone ; 
An hundred men might hold the post 
With hardihood against a host, 
The rugged mountain's scanty cloak 
Was dwarfish shrubs of birch and oak, 
With shingles bare, and cliffs between. 
And patches bright of bracken green, 
And heather black, that waved so high, 
It held the copse in rivalry. 

« The Scottish Highlander calls himself Gae/, or Gaul, and ( 
the Lowlander* Sassenach, or Saxons. 



858 THE LADY OF TIIE LAKE. tOANTO V 

But where the lake slept deep and still. 
Dank osiers fringed the swamp and hill; 
And oft buth paih and hill were torn. 
Where wintry torrent down had borne. 
And heaped upon the cumbered land 
Its wreck of gravel, rocks, and sand. 
So toilsome was the road to trace. 
The guide, abating of his pace, 
Led slowly through the pass's jaws. 
And asked Fitz-James, by what strange came 
He sought these wilds, traversed by few 
Without a pass from Roderick Dhu ? 

IV, 

" Brave Gael, my pass, in danger tried. 
Hangs in my belt, and by my side ; 
Vet, sooth to tell," the Saxon said, 
" I dreamed not now to claim its aid. 
When here, but three days since, I came, 
Bewildered in pursuit of game. 
All seemed as peaceful and as still, 
As the mist slumbering on yon hill ; 
Thy dangerous chief was then afar, 
Nor soon expected back from war. 
Thus said, at least, my mountain ^ida, 
Though deep, perchance, the villain lied." 
" Yet why a second venture try ?" 
" A vrarrior thou, and ask me why ? 
Moves our free course by such fixed cause 
As gives the poor mechanic laws? 
Enough, I sought to drive away 
The lazy hours of peaceful day; 
Slight cause will then suffice to guide 
A knight's free footsteps far and wide, 
A falcon flown, a greyhound strayed. 
The merry glance of mountain maid; 
Or, if a path be dangerous known, 
The danger's self is lure alone." 

V 
"Thy secret keep, I urge thee not; 
Yet, ere again ye sought this spot, 
Say, heard ye nought of lowland war. 
Against Clan- Alpine raised by Mar !"* 



OAXTO v.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 869 

" No, by my word ; of bands prepared 
To guard King James's sports I heard; 
Nor doubt I aught, but, when they Lear 
This muster of the mountaineer, 
Their pennons will abroad be flung. 
Which else in Doune had peaceful hung." 
" Free be they flung ! — for we were loth 
Tlieir silken folds should feast the moth. 
Free be they flung ! — as free shall wave 
Clan- Alpine's pine in banner brave. 
But, stranger, peaceful since you came, 
Bewildered in the mountain game, 
Whence the bold boast by which you show 
Vich- Alpine's vowed and mortal foe.'*" — 
" Warrior, but yester-morn I knew 
Nought of thy Chieftain, Roderick Dhii, 
Save as an outlaw'd desperate man. 
The chief of a rebellious clan, 
Wbo, in the Regent's court and sight, 
With ruffian dagger stabbed a knight ; 
Yet this alone might from his part 
Sever each true and loyal heart." 

VI. 

Wrothful it such arraignment foul, 
Dark lowered the clansman's sable scowl. 
A space he paused, then sternly said — 
" And heard'st thou why he drew his blade 
Heard' St thou that shameful word and blow 
Brought Roderick's vengeance on his foe ? 
What reck'd the Chieftain, if he stood 
On highland heath or Holy- Rood .'' 
He rights such wrong where it is given, 
If it were in the court of heaven." 
'' Still was it outrage ; — yet, 'tis true. 
Not then claimed sovereignty his due ; 
"Wbile Albany, with feeble hand. 
Held borrowed truncheon of command.* 
The young king, mew'd in Stirling tower. 
Was stranger to respect and power, 

* There is scarcely a more disorderly period in Scottish history 
than that which succeeded the battle ot Floddoa, aiul ocooitiad 
the miuority of Jamea y. 



360 THE LADY OF THE LAKE, [CANTO "?. 

But then, thy Chieftain's robber life !— 
Winning mean prey by causeless strife, 
Wrenching from ruin d lowland swain 
His herds and harvest reared in vain — 
Methinks a soul like thiue should scorn . 
The spoils from such foul foray borne." 

VII. 

The Gael beheld him grim the while, 
And answered with disdainful smile — 
" Saxon, from yonder mountain high, 
I marked thee send delighted eye. 
Far to the south and east, where lay. 
Extended in succession gay. 
Deep waving fields and pastures green, 
With gentle slopes and gropes between : — . 
These fertile plains, that softened vale, 
Were once the birthright of the Gael; 
The Gtranger came with iron hand, 
And from our fathers reft the land. 
Where dwell we now^ ? See, rudely swell 
Crag over crag, and fell o'er fell. 
Ask we this savage hill Ave tread, 
For fattened steer or household bread 
Ask we for "Hocks these shingles diy, 
And well the mountain might reply — 
' To you, as to your sires of yore. 
Belong the target and clajTnore ! 
I give you shelter in my breast, 
Your own good blades must win the rest.* 
Pent in this fortress of the North, 
Think'st thou we will not sally forth, 
To spoil the spoiler as we may, 
And from the robber rend the prey ? 
Ay, by my soul ! — While on yon plain 
The Saxon rears one shock of grain ; 
While, of ten thousand herds, there strays 
But one along yon river's maze — 
The Gael, of plain and river heir. 
Shall, with strong hand, redeem bis share.* 

« The Gael, great traditional historians, never forgot that U,f 
^cwlands had, lit some remote period, been the properly of rlieir 
Celtic forefathrrs, which furnished an ample \-indication of all 

the ravages tbit they could make ou the unfortunate dwtrictt 

which lay within their reach. 



CAl*TO v.] TME LADY OF THE LAKE. 861 

Wliere live the mountain chiefs who hold. 
That plundering lowland field and fold 
Is ought hut retribution tnie ? 
Seek other cause 'gainst Roderick Dhu." 



Answered Fitz-James — " And, if I sought, 

Think'st thou no other could be broughtP 

What deem ye of my path waylaid, 

My life given o'er to ambuscade ?" 

" As of a meed to rashness due : 

Hadst thou sent warning fair and trae — 

I seek my hound, or falcon strayed, 

I seek, good faith, a Highland maid — 

Free hadst thou been to come and go ; 

But secret path marks secret foe. 

Nor yet, for this, even as a spy, 

Hadst thou, unheard, been doomed to die, 

Save to fulfil an augury." 

" Well, let it pass ; n(fc will I now 

Fresh cause of enmity avow, 

To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow. 

Enough, I am by promise tied 

To match me Avith this man of pride ; 

Twice have I sought Clan- Alpine's glen 

In peace ; but when I come agen, 

I come with banner, brand and bow, 

As leader seeks his mortal foe. 

For love-lorn swain, in lady's bower. 

Ne'er panted for the appointed hour, 

As I, until before me stand 

This rebel Chieftain and his band." 

IX, 

" Have then thy wish !" — ^he whistled shrilL 
And he was answered from the hill ; 
Wild as the scream of the curlew, 
From crag to crag the signal flew. 
Instant, through copse and heath, arose 
Bonnets, and spears, and bended bO"W»* 
On right, on left, above, below, 
Sprang up at once the lurking fee; 
9, 



362 THE LADY OF THE LA.KK CCAKTO V 

Pvom shiugks grey their lances start, 

The brackeu-bush sends foilh the dart, 

The rushes and the willow-wand 

Are bristling into axe and brand. 

And every tuft of broom gives life 

To plaided warrior armed for strife. 

That whistle garrisoned the glen 

At once with full five hundred men, 

As if the yawning hill to heaven 

A subterranean host had given. 

Watching their leader's beck and will, 

All silent there they stood and still. 

Like the loose crags whose threatening mass 

Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass. 

As if an infant's touch could urge 

Their headlong passage do^vn the verge, 

With step and weapon forward flung, 

Upon the mountain-side they hung. 

The mountaineer cast glance of pride 

Along Benledi's living side. 

Then fixed his eye and sable brow 

Full on Fitz- James — " How say'st thou now? 

These are Clan- Alpine's warriors true ; 

And, Saxon — I am Roderick Dhu !" 



Fitz-James was brave : — though to his hetrt 

The life-blood thrilled with sudden start, 

He mann'd himself with dauntless air, 

Returned the Chief his haughty stare, 

His back against a rock he bore, 

And firmly placed his foot before ; — 

*' Come one, come all ! this rock shall fly 

From its firm base as soon as I !" 

Sir Roderick marked — and in his eyes 

Respect was mingled with surprise, 

And the stern joy which v/arriors feel 

In foemen worthy of their steel. 

Short space he stood — then waved his hood ; 

Down sank the disappearing hand ; 

'^Each warrior vanished where he stood. 

In broom or bracken, heath or wooi ; 



CANTO v.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 

Sank brand and spear and bended bow, 

In osiers pale and copses low : 

It seemed as if their moiher Earth 

Had swallowed up her warlike birth. 

The wind's last breath had tossed in air 

Peunou, and plaid, and plumage fair — 

The next but swept a loue hill-side, 

Where heath and fern were waving Avide , 

The sun's last glance was glinted back, 

From spear and glaive, from targe and jack — 

The next, all unreflected, shone 

Oa bracken gieen and cold grey stone. 

XI. 

Fitz- James looked round — yet scarce believed 

The witness that his sight received ; 

Such apparition well might seem 

Delusion of a dreadful dream. 

Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed, 

And to his look the Chief replied, 

" Fear nought — nay, that I need not say — 

But — doubt not aught from mine array. 

Thou art my guest ; — 1 pledged my word 

As far as Coilautogle ford : 

Nor would I call a clansman's brand 

For aid against one valiant hand. 

Though on our strife lay every vale 

Rent by the Saxon from the Gael. 

So move we on ; — I only meant 

To show the reed on which you leant, 

Deeming this path you might pursue 

Without a pass from Roderick Dhu." 

They moved : — I said Fitz- James was braT« 

As ever knight that belted glaive ; 

Yet dare not say, that now his blood 

Kept on its wont and tempered flood, 

As, following Roderick's stride, he drew 

That seeming lonesom.e pathway through, 

Which yet, by fearful proof, was rife 

With lances, that'to take his life 

Waited but signal from a guid«, 

So late dishonoured and defied. 



363 



36-4 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. CCANTO V. 

Ever, by stealth, his eye sought round 
The vanished guardians of the ground, 
And still from copse and heather deep. 
Fancy saw spear and broad-sword petsp, 
And in the plover's shrilly strain. 
The signal whistle heard again. 
Nor breathed he free till far behind 
The pass was left ; for then they wind 
Along a wide and level green, 
Where neither tree nor tuft was. seen, 
Nor rush, nor bush of broom was near, 
To hide a bonnet or a spear. 
XII. 
The Chief in silence strode before, 
And reached that torrent's sounding shore. 
Which, daughter of three mighty lakes, 
From Vennachar in silver breaks. 
Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mines 
On Bochastle the mouldering lines. 
Where Rome, the Empress of the world. 
Of yore her eagle wings unfurl' d.* 
And here his course the Chieftain staid, 
Threw down his target and his plaid, 
And to the lowland warrior said : — 
" Bold Saxon ! to his promise just, 
Vich- Alpine has discharged his trust. 
Tiiis murderous chief, this ruthless man, 
Ti''s head of a rebellious clan. 
Hath led thee safe, tlirough watch and ward, 
Far past Clan- Alpine's outmost guard. 
Not/, man to man, and steel to steel, 
A chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel. 
See, here, all vantageless I stand. 
Armed, like thyself, with single brand ; 
For this is Collantogle ford, 
And thou must keep thee with thy sword." 

XTTI. 

The Saxon paused : — " I ne'er delayed, 
When foeman bade me draw my blade ; 

* Upon a small eminence, called the Dun of Bochastle, and in- 
deed ou the plain itself, are ecme Intrenchinents which have beeu 
thought Roman. There is adjacent to CaUandei- a villa, eatlUed 
the Roman Camp. 



CANTO v.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 365 

Nay more, brave Chief, I vow'd thy death ; 

Yet sure thy fair and generous faith. 

And my deep debt for life preserved, 

A better meed have well reserved : — 

Can nought but blood our fsud atone ? 

Are there no means?" — "■ No, Stranger, none' 

And hear — to fire thy flagging zeal — 

The Saxon cause rests on thy steel ; i 

For thus spoke Fate by prophet bred 

Between the living and the dead : 

' Who spills the foremost foeman's life, 

His party conquers in the strife/ " 

" Then, by my word," the Saxon said, 

" The riddle is already read. 

Seek yonder brake beneath the cliff — 

There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff. 

Thus Fate has solved her prophecy, 

Then yield to Fate, and not to me. 

To James, at Stirling, let us go. 

When, if thou wilt be stUl his foe. 

Or if the King shall not agree 

To grant thee grace and favour free, 

I plight mine honour, oath, and word. 

That, to thy native strengths restored. 

With each advantage shalt thou stand. 

That aids thee now to guard thy land.' 



Dark lightning flashed from Roderick's eye— 

" Soars thy presumption, then, so high, 

Because a Avretched kern ye slew. 

Homage to name to Roderick Dhu ? 

He yields not, he, to man nor Fate ! 

Thou add'st but fuel to my hate — 

My clansman's blood demands revenge. 

Not yet prepared ? By heaven, I change 

My thought, and hold thy valour light 

A s that of some vain carpet-knight, 

Who ill deserved my courteous care. 

And whose best boast is but to wear 

A braid of his fair lady's hair." 

"^ I thank thee, Roderick, for the wc^rd ! 

It nerves my heart, it steels my sword; 



366 TEE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO V 

For I have sworn this braid to stain 
In the best blood that warms thy vein. 
Now, truce, farewell ! and ruth, be gone !— 
Yet think not that by thee alone. 
Proud Chief ! can courtesy be shown ; 
Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn, 
Start at my whistle clansmen stern, 
Of this small horn one feeble blast 
Would fearful odds against thee cast. 
But fear not — doubt not — which thou vdlt— 
We try this quarrel hilt to hilt," 
Then each at once his falchion drew, 
Each on the ground his scabbard threw, 
Each looked to sun, and stream, and plain. 
As what they ne'er might see again ; 
Then foot, and point, and eye opposed, 
In dubious strife they darkly closed. 

XV. 

Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu, 
That on the field his targe he threw,* 
Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide 
Had death so often dashed aside ; 
For, trained abroad his arms to wield, 
Fitz-James's blade was sword and shieldji" 
He practised every pass and ward. 
To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard ; 
While less expert, though stronger far, 
The Gael maintained imequal war. 
Three times in closing strife they stood. 
And thrice the Saxon sword drank blood — 
No stinted draught, no scanty tide. 
The gushing flood the tartans dyed. 
Fierce Roderick felt the fatal dxain, 
And showered his blows like wintry rain, 
And, as firm rock, a castle-roof. 
Against the winter shower is proof, 

* A round targpt of light wood, covered with strong Ifldtcer, 
and studded with brass or iron, was a necessary part of a Hig'tt- 
l&nder's equipment. A person thua armed had a considerable 
advantage in private fiay. 

+ The use of defensive armour, and particularly of the buckler 
or target, was jrenTaJ in Qu«eu KUzabeth's time, although that ol 
the single rapier «eeins to have been occasionally p»»ct)8«d mook 
earlier. 



CANTO V.2 THE LADY OF THE LA'Kli,. 367 

The foe, invulnerable still, 
Foiled his wild rage by steady skill ; 
Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand 
Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand. 
And, backwards borne upon the lea, 
Brought the proud Chieftain to his knee^ 



" Now, yield tbee, or, by Him who made 

The world, tby heart's blood dyes my blade V* 

" Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy ! 

Let recreant yield who fears to die." 

Like adder darting from his coil. 

Like wolf that dashes through the toil, 

Like mountain-cat who guards her young 

Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprung. 

Received, but reck'd not of a wound, 

And locked his arms his foeman round. 

Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine oa\ti ! 

No maiden's hand is round thee throA\Ti ! 

That desperate grasp thy frame uiiglit feel 

Through bars of brass and triple steel ! 

Tliey tug, they strain ! — down, down, they go. 

The Gael above, Fitz-James below ! 

The Chieftain's gi'ipe his throat compress'd. 

His knee was planted in his breast ; 

His clotted locks he backwai'd threw, 

Across his brow his hand he drew, 

From blood and mist to clear his sight, 

Then gleara'd aloft his dagger bright I 

But hate and fury ill supplied 

The stream of life's exhausted tide, 

And all too late the advantage came, 

To turn the odds of deadly game ; 

For, while the dagger gleamed on high. 

Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain and eye, 

Down came the blow ! but in the heath 

The erring blade found bloodless sheath. 

The struggling foe may now unclasp 

The fainting Chiefs relaxing grasp ; 

Unwounded from the dreadful close. 

But breathless all, Fitz-James aroa?. 



368 THE LADY OF TUE LAKE. [CANTa T 



He faltered thanks to Heaveu for life, 

Redeemed, unhoped, from desperate strife : 

Next on his foe his look he cast. 

Whose every gasp appeared his last ; 

In Roderick s gore he dippM the braid, 

" Poor Blanche ! thy wrongs are dearly paid \ 

Yet with thy foe must die, or live. 

The praise that Faith and Valour give." 

With that he blew a bugle-note, 

Undid the collar from his throat, 

Unbonnetted, and by the wave 

Sate down his brow and hands to lave. 

Then faint afar are heard the feet 

Of rushing steeds in gallop fleet ; 

The sounds increase, and now are seen 

Four mounted squires in Lincoln green ; 

Two who bear lance, and two who lead, 

By loosened rein, a saddled steed ; 

Each onward held his headlong course, 

And by Fitz-James rein'd up his horse. 

With wonder viewed the bloody spot — - 

" Exclaim not, gallants ! question not. 

You, Herbert and Luffness,. alight, 

And bind the wounds of yonder knight ; 

Let the ^rey palfrey bear his weight, 

AVe destmed for a fairer freight. 

And bring him on to Stirling straight ; 

I will before at better speed. 

To seek fresh horse and fitting weed. 

The sun rides high ; I must be boune 

To see the archer-game at noon ; 

But lightly Bayard clears the lea 

De Vaux and Herries, follow me \ 



" Stand, Bayard, stand !" the steed obeyed, 
With arching neck and bended head, 
And glancing eye, and quivering ear, 
As if he loved his lord to hear. 
No foot Fitz-James in stirrup staid, 
No grasp upon the saddle laid^ 




A-rnl soon th.e ]jxiivvmi>. of the NortlT, 
Gray Stiriiatf. with lier towers andtoAvxi, 
Upon- tiicir llrH't caTcer loo.k'd down. 



e.lNTO v.] THK LADY OF THE LAKK « 

But vrreatlied his left hand in the mana. 
And lightly bounded from the plain, 
Turned on the horse his armed heel. 
And stirred his courage with the steeL 
Bounded the fiery steed in air, 
The rider sate erect and fair, 
Then, like a bolt, from steel cross-bo\T 
Forth launched, along the plain they go. 
They dashed that rapid torrent throu^ 
And up Carhonie's hill they liew ; 
Still at the gallop pricked the Knight, 
His merrj'-men followed as they might. 
Along thy banks, swift Teith ! they ride. 
And in the race they mock thy tide ; 
Torry and Lendrick now are past, 
And Deanstown lies behind them cast ? 
They rise, the bannered towers of Doune, 
They sink in distant woodland soon ; 
Blair-Drummond sees the hoofs strike fire, 
They sweep like breeze through Ochtertyre ; 
They mark just glance and disappear 
The lofty brow of ancient Keir ; 
They bathe their coursers' sweltering sides, 
Dark Forth ! amid thy sluggish tides. 
And on the opposing shore take ground. 
With plash, with scramble, and with bound. 
Right hand they leave thy cliffs, Craig-fortL, 
And soon the bulwark of the North, 
Grey Stirling, with her towera and town. 
Upon their neet career looked down. 

XIX. 

As up the flinty path they strained, 
Sudden his steed the leader reined ; 
A signal to his squire he flung. 
Who instant to his stirrup sprang : — 
' Seest thou, De Vaux, yon woodsman grey, 
Who town- ward holds the rocky way, 
Of stature tall and poor aiTay ? 
Mark'st thou the firm, y^t active stride. 
With which he scales the mountain side? 
Know' St thou from whence he comes, or whom?* 
" No, by my word ; — a burly groom 
q2 



"70 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [cANTO V 

He seems, who in tte field or cliase 

A Baron's train would nobly grace." 

" Out, out, De Vaux ! can fear supply 

And jealousy, no sharper eye ? 

Afar, ere to the hill he drew. 

That stately form and step I knew ; 

Like form in Scotland is not seen, 

Treads not such step on Scottish green. 

'Tis James of Douglas, by saint Serle ! 

The uncle of the banished Earl. 

Away, away, to court, to show 

The near approach of dreaded foe : 

The king must stand upon his guard ; 

Douglas and he must meet prepared." 

Then right hand wheeled their steeds, and straight 

They won the castle's postern gate. 

XX. 
The Douglas, who had bent his way 
From Cambus-Kenneth's abbey grey, 
Now, as he climbed the rocky shelf, 
Held sad communion with himself : — • 
" Yes ! all is true my fears could frame ; 
A prisoner lies the noble Grseme, 
And fiery Roderick soon will feel 
The vengeance of the royal steel. 
I, only I, can ward their fate — 
God grant the ransom come not late ! 
The Abbess hath her promise given, 
My child shall be the bride of heaven ; — ■ 
Be pardoned one repining tear ! 
For He who gave her, knows how dear, 
How excellent — but that is by. 
And now my business is to die. 
Ye towers ! within whose circuit dread 
A. Douglas by his sovereign bled, 
And thou, oh sad and fatal mound ! 
That oft has heard the death-axe sound,^ 

* Stirling was often polluted with noble blond. Tlie liitc o< 
William, eighth Earl of Douglas, whom Jamegthe Secouri stahbe.-! 
in Stirling Ciistle with his o^rn hand, and wliil" under his viivh) 
Bafo-conduci, is familiar to all who read Scottish history. Miii- 
dack, Duke of Albany, Diaican, Karl of Lennox, his father-in-law, 
and his two sons, Walter and /llexaader Siew^rt, were executed 
»t Stirling in 1 125. They were behe^.led tipon an eminence with- 
oat the castle walls, but making part of tho same bill. 



CANTO v.] THE LADY OV THE I^ASB. 87 • 

As on the noblest of the land 

Fell the stem headsman's bloody hand — 

The dungeon, block, and nameless tomb 

Prepare — for Douglas seeks his doom ! 

But hark ! what blithe and jolly peal 

Makes the Franciscan steeple reel ? 

And see ! upon th» crowded street, 

In motley groups what masquers meet 

Banner and pageant, pipe and drum, 

And merry morrice-dancers come. 

I guess, by all this quaint array, 

The burghers hold their sports to-day. 

James will be there — he loves such show. 

Where the good yeoman bends his bow, 

And the tough wrestler foils his foe, 

As well as where, in proud career. 

The high-born tilter shivers spear. 

I'll foUow to the Castle-park, 

And play my prize — King James shall mark. 

If age has tamed*these sinews stark. 

Whose force so oft, in happier days, 

His boyish wonder loved to praise." 

XXI. 

The Castle gates were open flung. 

The quivering draw-bridg'e rocked and rung, 

And echoed loud the flinty street 

Beneath the coursers' clattering feet, 

As slowly down the deep descent 

Fair Scotland's King and nobles "went, 

While all aL-ng the crowded way 

Was jubik-e and loud huzza. 

And ever James was bending low. 

To his white jennet's saddle bow, 

Doffing his cap to city dame, 

SVho smiled and blushed for pride and shainr, 

And well the simperer might be vaiu- — 

He chose the fairest of the train. 

* Everv bur«rh of Scotlaii'l, had its aolemn play, or festivali 
when feats of archer}- were exhibited, and prizes distributed to 
those \vho exc<'lled in Mrrestling, huriin^ the bar, and the otUei 

Eyuinastic exercises of the peri>d. James V.-s re;idy partic-ipatioa 
1 these j>i»palai- amusements was one cause of tiis acquiring tha 
title of King of 'he Commons. The usual prize to the best shooter 
;ntt a gilver arrow. 



372 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. CCANTO V 

Gravely he greets each city sire, 
Commends each pageant's quaint attire. 
Gives to the dancers thanks aloud, 
And smiles and nods upon the crowd, 
Who rend the heavens with their acclaims, 
" Long live the Commons' King, King James!** 
Behind the King thronged peer and knight, 
And nohle dame and damsel bright. 
Whose fiery steeds ill brooked tne stay 
Of the steep street and crowded way. 
But in the train you might discern 
Daik lowering brow and visage stem ; 
There nobles mourned their pride restrained, 
And the mean burghers' joys disdained ; 
And chiefs, who, hostage for their clan, 
^Vere each from home a banished man. 
There thought upon their own grey tower, 
Their waving woods, their feudal power. 
And deemed themselves a shameful part 
Of pageant, which they cursed in heart. 

XXII. 

Now in the Castle-park, drew out 
Their chequered bands the joyous route. 
There morricers, with bell at heel, 
And blade in hand, their mazes wheel i 
But chief, beside the butts, there stand 
Bold Robin Hood* and all his band — 
Friar Tuck with quarter-staff and cowl, 
Old Scathelocke with his surly scowl. 
Maid Marian, fair as ivory bone. 
Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little John; 
Their bugles challenge all that will, 
In archery to prove their skill. 
The Douglas bent a bow of might — 
His first shaft centered in the white. 
And when in turn he shot again, 
His second split the first in twain. 
From the King's hand must Douglas take 
A silver dart, the archers' stake; 

* The exhibition of fhis renowned outlaw and his band vrB:^ a 
favourite frolic in Scotland as well as EnpUnd at such ieiitivalg aa 
we are deiicribing. The game of Eobin Hood was usually acted 
OJ May. 



CANTO v.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 378 

Fondly he watched, with -watery eye, 
Some answering glance of sympathy — 
No kind emotion made reply 1 
Indifferent as to archer wight, 
The monarch gave the arrow l3right 

XXIII. 

Now, clear the ring ! for, hand to hand. 
The manly wrestlers take their stand. 
Two o'er the rest superior rose, 
And proud demanded mightier foes, 
Nor called in vain ; for Douglas came. 
— For life, is Hugh of Larbert lame ; 
Scarce better John of Alloa's fare. 
Whom senseless home his comrades bear, 
Prize of the wrestling match, the King 
To Douglas gave a golden ring,* 
AVhile coldly glanced his eye of blue. 
As frozen drop of winter dew. 
Douglas would speak, but in his breast 
His struggling soul his words suppress'd ; 
Indignant then he turned him where 
Their arms the brawny yeoman bare. 
To hurl the massive bar in air. 
When each his utmost strength had shown. 
The Douglas rent an earth-fast stoue 
From its deep bed, then hieg,ved it high, 
And sent the fragment through the sky. 
A rood beyond the farthest mark ; 
And still in Stirling's royal park, 
The grey-haired sires who know the past, 
To strangers point the Douglas-cast, 
And moralize on the decay 
Of Scottish strength in modern day. 



The vale with loud applauses rang, 
The Ladies' Rock sent back the clang; 
The King, with look unmoved, Vestowed 
A purse well filled with pieces broa<L 

* The usual prize of a wrestline was a ram ana a nn^ Tba J 
no; being very poetical is omitted in the story. 



374 TUK LADY OF XHE LAKE [CANTO » 

Indignant smiled the Douglas proud, 
And threw the gold among the crowd 
Who now, with anxious wonder, scan, 
And sharper glance, the dark grey man : 
Till whispers rose among the throng, 
That heart so free, and hand so strong, 
Must to the Douglas' blood belong: 
The old men mark'd, and shook the head.. 
To see his hair with silver spread. 
And winked aside, and told each son 
Of feats upon the English done, 
Ere Douglas of the stalv/art hajid 
"Was exiled from his native land. 
1'he women praised his stately form, 
I'hough wrecked by many a winter's stomo 
The youth, -with awe and wonder, sa"v^' 
His strength surpassing Nature's law, 
Thus judged, as is their wont, the crowd. 
Till murmurs rose to clamours loud. 
But not a glance from that proud ring 
Of peers who circled found the King. 
With Douglas held communion kindi, 
Or called the banished man to mind: 
No, not from those who, at the chase, 
Once held his side the honoured place. 
Begirt his board, and, in the field. 
Found safety underneath his shield , 
For he, whom royal eyes disown, 
When was his form to corn-tiers known ' 

XXV. 

The monarch saw the gambols flag, 

And bade let loose a gallant stag, 

Whose pride, the holiday to cro^vn, 

Two favourite gi-ey-hounds should pull do-wi^ 

Tliat venison free, and Bourdeaux wine, 

Might serve the archeiy to dine. 

But Lufra — whom from Douglas' side 

Nor bribe nor threat could e'er divide — 

The fleetest hound in all. the North, 

Brave Lufra saw, and darted forth. 

She left the royal hounds mid- way. 

And, dashing on the antler'd prey, 



C\y.TO V ] THK LADY OF THE LAKE. 

Sank her sharp muzzle in his flank, 
And deep the flowing life-blood drank. 
The King's stout huntsman saw the sport 
By strange intruder broken short. 
Came up, and, with his leash unbound. 
In anger stinick the noble hound. 
The Douglas had endured, that mom. 
The King's cold look, the nobles' scoiD, 
And last, and worst to spirit proud, 
Had borne the pity of the crowd ; 
But Lufra had been fondly bred. 
To share his board, to watch his bed, 
And oft would Ellen, Lufra's neck. 
In maiden glee, with garlands deck ; 
They were such plaj-mates, that with name 
Of Lufra, Ellen's image came. 
His stifled wi-ath is brimming high, 
In darkened brow and flashing eye ; 
As waves before the bark divide, 
The crowd gave way before his stride ; 
Needs but a buS"et and no more, 
The groom lies senseless in his gore. 
Such blow no other hand could deal^ 
Though gauntletted in glove of steel. 



ITien clamoured loud the royal train, 

And brandished swords and staves amain ; 

But stern the Baron s warning — " Back ! 

Back on your lives, ye menial pack! 

Beware the Douglas. Yes ! behold. 

King James, the Douglas, doomed of old. 

And vainly sought for near and far, 

A victim to atone the war. 

A willing victim, now attends. 

Nor craves thy grace but for his friends." 

" Thus is my clemency repaid ? 

Presumptuous Lord !" the monarch said ; 

" Of thy mis-proud ambitious clan. 

Thou, James of Bothwell, wert the man 

The only man, in whom a foe 

My woraan-csrcy would not know: 



875 



876 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [cANTO V. 

But shall a Monarch's presence brook 

Injurious blow, and haughty look ? 

What ho ! the Captain of our Guard I 

Give the offender fitting ward. 

Break off the sports !" — for tumult rose, 

And yeoman 'gan to bend their bows— 

" Break off the sports !" he said, and frowned, 

" And bid our horsemen clear the ground." 



Then uproar wild and misarray 
Marr'd the fair form of festal day. 
The horsemen pricked among the crowd, 
Repelled by threats and insult loud ; 
To earth are borne the old and weak, 
The timorous fly, the women shriek ; 
With flint, with shaft, with staff, with bar, 
The hardier urge tumultuous war. 
At once round Douglas darkly sweep 
The royal spears in circle deep, 
And slowly scale the pathway steep ; 
While on their rear in thunder pour 
The rabble with disordered roar, ■ 
With giief the noljle Douglas saw 
The commons rise against the law 
And to the leading soldier said, 
" Sir John of Hyndford ! 'twas my blade 
That knighthood on thy shoulder laid ; 
For that good deed, permit me then 
A word with these misguided men. 



" Hear, gentle friends ! ere yet, for inf% 
Ye break the bands of fealty. 
My life, my honour, and my cause, 
I tender free to Scotland's laws. 
Are these so weak as must require 
The aid of your misguided ire ? 
Or, if I suffer causeless ^vrong, 
Is then my selfish rage so strong. 
My sense of public weal so low. 
That, for mean vengeance on a fo«, 



CANTO v.] THE LADY OF THE LAKB. 377 

Those chords of love I should unhind. 

Which knit my country and my kin<{? 

Oh no! Believe, in yonder tower 

It will not soothe my captive hour. 

To know those spears our foes should dread, 

For me in kindred gore are red ; 

To know, in fruitless brawl begun, 

For me, that mother wails her son ; 

For me, that widow's mate expires, 

For me, that orphans weep their sires. 

That patriots mourn insulted laws, 

And curse the Douglas for the cause. 

Oh let your patience ward such ill. 

And keep your right to love me still!" 



Tlie crowd's wild fury sunk again 

In tears, as tempests melt in rain. 

With lifted hands and eyes, they prayed 

For blessings on his generous head, 

Who for his country felt alone, 

Who prized her blood beyond his own. 

Old men, upon the verge of life, 

Blessed him who staid the civil strife ; 

And mothers held their babes on high. 

The self-devoted chief to spy. 

Triumphant over wrong and ire, 

To whom the prattlers owed a sire : 

Even the rough soldier's heart was moved ^ 

As if behind some bier beloved. 

With trailing arms and drooping head. 

The Douglas up the hill he led, 

And at the castle's battled verge, 

With sighs, resigned his honoured charge. 



The offended Monarch rode apart, 
With bitter thought and swelling heart, 
And would not now vouchsafe again 
Through Stirling streets to lead his train. 
" Oh Lennox, who would wish to rule 
Tins changftling crowd, this common fool ! 



378 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO V 

Hear'st thou," he said, " the loud acclaim 
With which they shout the LVjuglas name ? 
With like acclaim, the vulgar throat 
Strained for King James their morning note , 
With like acclaim they hailed the day 
When first I hroke the Douglas' sway ; 
And like acclaim would Douglas greet, 
If he could hurl me from my seat. 
Who o'er the herd would wish to reign. 
Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain ? 
Vain as the leaf upon the stream, 
And fickle as a changeful dream ; 
Fantastic as a woman's mood. 
And fierce as Frenzy's fevered blood. 
Thou many-headed monster-thing. 
Oh who would wish to be thy king ( 



" But soft ! what messenger of speed 

Spurs hitherward his panting steed.' 

I guess his cognizance afar — 

What from our cousin, John of Mar .?" 

" He prays, my liege, your sports keep bound 

Within tile safe and guarded gi'ound : 

For some foul purpose yet unknown — 

Most sure for evil to the throne — 

The outlawed Chieftain, Roderick Dha, 

Has summoned his rebellious crew ; 

'Tis said, in James of Bothwell's aid 

These loose banditti stand arrayed. 

The Earl of Mar, this morn, from Doune, 

To break their muster marched, and soon 

your grace will hear of battle fought ; 

But earnestly the Earl besought, 

Till for such danger he provide, 

With scanty train you will not ride." 



♦' Thou wam'st me I have done amia^ 
I should have earlier looked to this : 
I lost it in this bustling day. 
Retrace with speed thy former way 



CANTO V.j 



THE LADY OP THE LAUK, 



379 



Spare not for spoiling of thy steed. 
The best of mine shall be thy meed. 
Say to our faithful Lord of Mar, 
We do forbid the intended war : 
Roderick, this mom, in single fight. 
Was made our prisoner by a knight. 
And Douglas hath himself and caus« 
Submitted to our kingdom's laws. 
The tidings of their leaders lost 
Will soon dissolve the mountain host. 
Nor would \ve that the vulgar feel. 
For their Chiefs crimes, avenging steel. 
Bear Mar our message, Braco, fly." 
He turned his steed-—" My liege, I hie, 
Yet, ere I cross this lily lawn, 
I fear the broad-swords will be drawn.'* 
The turf the Hying courser spurned. 
And to his towers the Kin^ returned. 



111 with King James's mood that da^' 
Suited gay feast and minstrel lay ; 
Soon were dismissed the courtly throng. 
And soon cut short the festal song. 
Nor less upon the saddened tovna 
The evening sank in sorrow down , 
The burghers spoke of civil jar. 
Of rumoured feuds and mountain war, 
Of Moray, Mar, and Roderick Dhu, 
All up in arms : the Douglas too, 
They mourned him pent within the hold 
" A\ here stout Earl William was of old ;* 
And there his word the speaker staid, 
And finger on his lip he laid. 
Or pointed to his dagger blade. 
But jaded horsemen from the west, 
At evening to the castle pressed ; 
And busy talkers said they bore 
Tidings of fight on Katrine's ghorc? 

• Stabbed by James IT. in Stirling' Castle. 



S80 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. r 

At noon the deadly fraj^ begun, 
And lasted till the set of sun. 
Thus giddy rumour shook the town, 
Till closed the Night her pennons brown. 



CANTO SIXTH. 
©55 ®uartr Hoorn* 



The sun, awakening, through the smoky air 

Of the dark city casts a sullen glance, 
Rrflising each caitiff to his task of care. 

Of sinful man the sad inheritance ; 

Summoning revellers from the lagging dance, 
Scaring the prowling robber to his den ; 

Gilding on battled .tower the warder's lance. 
And warning student pale to leave his pen, 
And yield his drowsy eyes to the kind nurse of men. 

What various scenes, and oh ! what scenes of-woe, 

Are witnessed by that red and struggling beam ! 
The fevered patient, from his pallet low. 

Through crowded hospital beholds it stream ; 

The ruined maiden trembles at its gleam, 
The debtor wakes to thoughts of gyve and jail, 

The love-lorn WTetch stai-ts from tormenting dream: 
The wakeful mother, by the glimmering pale. 
Trims her sick infant's couch, and soothes his feeble 

wail. 



At dawn the towers of Stirling rang 
AVith soldier-step and weapon clang, 
While drums, with rolling note, foretell 
Relief to wearj' sentinel. 
Through naiTow loop and casement barr'd. 
The sunbeams sought the Court of Guard, 
And, struggling with the smoky air, 
Deadened the torches' yellow glaie. 



CANTO VI.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 381 

[n comfortless alliance shone 
The lights through arch of blackened stone, 
And showed wild shapes in garb of wax. 
Faces deformed with beard and scar. 
All haggard from the midnight watch, 
And fevered with the stern debauch ; 
For the oak table's massive board, 
Flooded with wine, with fragments stored. 
And beakers drained, and cups overthrown, 
Showed in what sport the night had flown. 
Some, weary, snored on floor and bench ; 
Some laboured still their thirst to quench ; 
Some, chilled with watching, spread their hands 
O'er the huge chimney's dying brands, 
"SVTiile round them, or beside them flung. 
At evt-iy step their harness i"ung. 

III. 

These drew not for their fields the swoitL, 

Like tenants of a feudal lord, 

Nor owned the patriarchal claim 

Of chieftain in their leader's name , 

Adventurers* they, from far who roved, 

To live by battle which they loved. 

There the Italian's clouded face. 

The swarthy Spaniard's there you trace; 

The mountaiu-lo\ing Switzer there 

More freely breathed in mountain-air. 

The Fleming there despised the soil, 

That paid so ill the labourer's toil ; 

Their rolls showed French and German name ", 

And merry England's exiles came. 

To share, with ill-concealed disdain, 

Of Scotland's pay the scanty gain. 

All brave in arms, well trained to wield 

The hea\7^ halbert, brand, and shield ; 

In camps, licentious, wild, and bold; 

In pillage, fierce and imcontrolled ; 

And now, by hoLytide and feast. 

From rules of discipline released. 

« James V. seems first to have introduced, in addition to the 
national militia, the service of a small number of mercenaries, wb* 
formed a body-guard, called the P'oot-Band, 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO W 



They held debate of bloody fray, 

Fought 'twixt Loch-Katrine and Achray. 

Fierce was their speech, and, mid their words, 

Their hands oft grappled to their swords ; 

Nor sank their tone to spare the ear 

Of wounded comrades groaning near, 

Whose mangled limbs, and bodies gored, 

Bore token of the mountain sword. 

Though, neighbouring to the court of guard. 

Their prayers and feverish wails were heard ;— 

Sad burdened to the ruffian joke, 

And savage oath by fury spoke !— 

At length upstarted John of Brent, 

A yeoman from the banks of Trent ; 

A stranger to respect or fear. 

In peace a chaser of the deer, 

lu host a hardy mutineer. 

But still the boldest of the crew. 

When deed of danger was to do. 

He grieved, that day their games cut short, 

And man-'d the dicers' brawling sport, 

And shouted loud, " Renew the bowl ! 

And, while a merry catch I troll, 

Let each the buxom chorus bear. 

Like brethren of the brand and spear." 



SOLDIER S SONG. 
Our vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule 
Laid a swinging long curse on the bonny brown bowl. 
That there's wrath and despair in the jolly black jack, 
And seven deadly sins in a flagon of sack : 
Yet whoop, Barnaby ! off -v\nth thy liquor. 
Drink upsees* out, and a fig for the vicar ! 
Our vicar he calls it damnation to sip 
The ripe ruddy dew of a woman's dear lip, 
Says, that Belzebub lurks in her kerchief so sl^-. 
And Apollyon shoots darts from her merry black eye ; 
Vet whoop. Jack! kiss Gillian the quicker. 
Till she bloom like a rose, and a lig for the vicar 1 

* A Bacchanalian interjectiorii borrowed from the Dal£h. 



CANTO VI.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 383 

Our vicar thus preaches — and why should he not « 
For the dues of his cure are the placket and pot ; 
And 'tis right of his office poor laymen to lurch. 
Who infringe the domains of our good mother Church 
Yet whoop, bully-hoys ! off with your liquor, 
Sweet Marjorie 8 the word, and a fig for the vicar ! 

VI. 

The warder's challenge heard without, 

Stayed in mid roar the merry shout. 

A soldier to the portal went — 

" Here is old Bertram, sirs, of Ghent : 

And, beat for jubilee the drum ! 

A maid and minstrel with him come 

Bertram, a Fleming, grey and scarr'd, 

Was entering now the court of g^ard, 

A harper with him, and, in plaid 

All mufEed close, a mountain maid. 

Who backward shrank to 'scape the view 

Of the loose scene and boisterous crew. 

" What news?"' thsy roared : — '^'I only knoVf 

From noon till eve we fought with foe. 

As wild and as untameable. 

As the iTide mountains where they dwelL 

On both sides store of blood is lost. 

Nor much success can either boast." 

" But whence thy captives, friend ? such spoil 

As theirs must needs reward thy toil. 

Old dost thou wax, and wars grow sharp , 

Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp, 

Get thee an ape, and trudge the land. 

The leader of a juggler band."* 



" No, comrade ; — no such fortune mine 
After the fight, these sought our line, 
That aged harper and the girl, 
And, having audience of the Earl, 
Mar bade I should purvey them steed. 
And bring them hitherward with speed. 

* The jongleurs or jueglers were wont to travel the corauitry, 
attended by a woman CEUled a gice-maiden, who umused the cdra. 
naiiy by dancine: and tumbliag, and frequontly an ape that direrted 
Cbem with its tricks. 



384 THE LADY OF IHE LAKE. [CANTO H, 

Forbear your mirth and rude alarm, 

For none shall do them shame or harm." 

** Hear ye his boast !" cried John of Brent, 

Ever to strife and jangling bent; 

*' Shall he strike doe beside our lodge, 

And yet the jealous niggard gmdge 

To pay the forester his fee ? 

I'll nave my share howe'er it be. 

Despite of Moray, Mar, or thee." 

Bertram his forward step withstood; 

And, burning in his vengeful mood. 

Old Allan, though unfit for strife. 

Laid hand upon his dagger- knife ; 

But Ellen boldly stepp d betv/een. 

And dropp'd at once the tartan screen ; 

So, from his morning cloud, appears 

The sun of May, through summer tears. 

The savage soldiery, amazed. 

As on descended angel gazed ; 

Even hardy Brent, abashed and tamed. 

Stood half admiring, half ashamed. 



Boldly she spoke — " Soldiers, attend I 
My father was the soldier's friend ; 
Cheered him in camps, in marches led, 
And with him in the battle bled. 
Not from the valiant, or the strong. 
Should exile's daughter suffer wrong." 
Answered De Brent, most foi-ward still 
In every feat or good or ill, 
" I shame me of the part I played ; 
And thou an outlaw's child, poor maid t 
An outlaw I by Forest laws. 
And merry Needwood knows the caoaOk 
Poor Rose — if Rose be living now" — 
He wiped his iron eye and brow, 
*' Must bear such age, I think, as thou. 
Hear ye, my mates ; I go to call 
The Captain of our watch to hall : 
There lies my halbert on the floor ; 
And he that steps my halbert o'er. 



CAX ro VI.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 

To do the maid injurious part, 
My shaft shall quiver in his heart ! 
Beware loose speech, or jesting rough : 
Ye all know John de Brent. Enough.** 

IX. 
Their Captain came, a gallant young— 
(Of Tullibardine's house he sprung) : 
Nor wore he yet the spurs of knight ; 
Gay was his mien, his humour light, 
And, though by courtesy controlled, 
Forward his speech, his bearing bold. 
The high-born maiden ill could brook 
The scanning of his curious look 
And dauntless eye ; and yet, in sooth, 
Young Lewis was a generous youth ; 
But Ellen's lovely face and mien, 
Ill-suited to the garb and scene, 
Might lightly bear construction strange, 
And give loose fancy scope to range. 
" Welcome to Stirling towers, fair maid ! 
Come ye to seek a champion's aid. 
On palfrey white, with harper hoar, 
Like errant damosel of yore? 
Does thy high quest a knight require. 
Or may the venture suit a squire ?" 
Her dark eye flashed ; she paused and sighci 
" Oh what have I to do with pride ! — 
Through scenes of sorrow, shame, and stoife. 
A suppliant for a father's life, 
I crave an audience of the King. 
Behold, to back my suit, a ring. 
The royal pledge of grateful claims. 
Given by the Monarch to Fitz-James." 

X. 
The signet ring young Lewis took. 
With deep respect and altered look; 
And said — " This ring our duties own ; 
And pardon, if, to worth unknown. 
In semblance mean obscurely veiled. 
Lady, in aught my folly failed. 
Soon as the day flings wide his gates, 
The King ^kJl know what suitor waitaL 

R 



386 THB UkDY OF THE LAKE. [CAKTO VI 

Please you, meanwhile, in fitting bower 

Repose you till his waking hour ; 

Female attendance shall obey 

Your hest, for service or array. 

Permit I marshal you the way." 

But, ere she followed, with the grace. 

And open bounty of her race, 

She bade her slender purse be shared 

Among the soldiers of the guard. 

The rest with thanks their guerdon took ; 

But Brent, with shy and awkward look, 

On the reluctant maiden's hold 

Forced blvmtly back the proffered gold ; — 

" Forgive a haughty Eiirgiish heart, 

And oh, forget its rudei i)art ! 

The vacant purse shall be my share, 

WTiich in my barret-cap Pll bear. 

Perchance, in jeopardy of war, 

AVhere gayer crests may keep afar." 

With thanks — 'twas all she could — the maii 

His rugged courtesy repaid. 



When Ellen forth with Lewis went, 
Allan made suit to John of Brent : — 
" My lady safe, oh let your grace 
Give me to see my master's face ! 
His minstrel I — to share his doom 
Bound from the cradle to the tomb. 
Tenth in descent, since first my sires 
Waked for his noble house their lyres, 
Nor one of all the race v/as known 
But prized its weal above their own. 
With the Chiefs birth begins our care; 
Our harp must soothe the infant heir. 
Teach the youth tales of fight, and grace 
His earliest feat of field or c^ase; 
Tn peace, in war, our rank we keep, 
We cheer his board, we soothe his sleep, 
Nor leave him till we pour om- verse, 
A doleful tribute ! o'er his hearse. 
Then let me share his captive lot ; 
It is my right — deny it not F' 



CANTO VI.] THE LADT OF THE LAKE. 

" Little we reck," said John of Brent, 
" We southern men, of long descent ; 
Nor wot we how a name — a word — 
Makes clansmen vassals to a lord : 
Yet kind my noble landlord's part- 
God bless the house of Beaudesert I 
And, but I loved to drive the deer. 
More than to guide the labouring steer, 
I had not dwelt an outcast here. 
Come, good old Minstrel, follow me ; 
Thy Lord and Chieftain shalt thou see," 

XII. 

Then, from a rusted iron hook, 

A bunch of ponderous keys he took, 

Lighted a torch, and Allan led 

Through grated arch and passage dread. 

Portals they passed, where, deep within, 

Spoke prisoner's moan and fetters' din ; 

Through rugged vaults, where, loosely stored > 

Lay wheel, and axe, and headsman's sword. 

And many an hideous engine grim. 

For wrenching joint, and crushing limb. 

By artists formed, who deemed it shame 

And in to give their word a name. 

They halted at a low-browed porch, 

And Brent to Allan gave the torch. 

While bolt and chain he backward rolled, 

And made the bar unhasp its hold. 

riiey entered— 'twas a prison-room 

Of stem security and gloom, 

Vet not a dungeon ; for the day 

Through lofty gratings found its way, 

And rade and antique garniture 

Decked the sad walls and oaken floor ; 

Such as the rugged days of old, 

Deem'd fit for captive noble's hold. 

" Here,'' said De Brent, "thou may'st remcia 

Till the Leach visit him again. 

Strict is his charge, the warders tell, 

To tend the noble prisoner well" 

Retiring then the bolt he drew. 

And the lock's murmurs growl'd auow. 



388 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO 7L 

Roused at the sound, from lowly bed 
A captive feebly raised his head ; 
The wondering Minstrel looked, and knew 
Not his dear lord, but Roderick Dhu! 
For, come from where Clan-Alpine fought, 
They, erring, deemed the Chief he sought, 



As the tall ship, whose lofty prore 

ShaU never stem the billows more, 

Deserted by her gallant band, 

Amid the breakers lies astrand. 

So, on his couch, lay Roderick Dhu ! 

And oft his fevered limbs he threw 

In toss abinipt, as wheu her sides 

Lie rocking in the advancing tides, 

That shake her frame with ceaseless beat, 

Yet cannot heave her from her seat 

Oh ! how unlike her course on sea ! 

Or his free step on hill and lea ! — 

Soon as the Minstrel he could scan, 

" What of thy lady? — of my clan? — 

My Mother ? — Douglas ? — tell me all ! 

Have they been ruined in my fall ? 

Ah, yes ! or wherefore art thou here ! 

Yet speak — speak boldly ! — do not fear." 

(For Allan, who his mood well knew, 

Was choked with grief and terror too.) 

" W^ho f©ught?— who lied ? Old man, be brief ^ 

Some might — for they had lost their Chief. 

W^ho basely live? — who bravely died?" 

" Oh, calm thee, Chief!" the Minstrel cried, 

" Ellen is safe ;'" — " For that, thank Heaven f* 

" And hopes are for the Douglas given • 

The Lady Margaret too is well. 

And, for thy clan — on field or fell, 

Has never harp of minstrel told, \ 

Of combat fought so true and bold. 

Thy stately pine is yet unbent. 

Though many a goodly bough is rent," 

XIV. 

The Chieftain reared his form on high. 
And fever's fire was in his eye ; 



CXKTO VI.] th:e lady of the lake. 889 

But ghastly, pale, and livid streaks 
Chequered his swarthy broW and cheeks. 
— " Hark, Minstrel ! I have heard thee play 
With measure bold on festal day, 
In yon loue isle . , . again where ne'er 
Shall harper play, or warrior hear ... 
That stirring air that peals on high, 
O'er Dermid's race our victory. 
Strike it ! — and then (for well thou canst) 
Free from thy minstrel-spirit glanced, 
Fling me the picture of the fight, 
vV^hen met my clan the Saxon might. 
1 '11 listen, till my fancy hears 
The clang of swords, the crash of spears ! 
These grates, these walls, shall vanish then. 
For the fair field of fighting men, 
And my free spirit burst away. 
As if it soared from battle fray." 
The trembling bard with awe obeyed — 
Slow on the harp his hand he laid. ; 
But soon remembrance of the sight 
He witnessed from the mountain's height, 
With what old Bertram told at night, 
Awakened the full power of song. 
And bore him in career along ; — 
As shallop launched on river's tide. 
That slow and fearful leaves the side, 
But, when it feels the middle stream, 
Drives do-svnward swift as lightning's beam. 
XV. 
BATTLE OF BEAL' AN DUINE.* 
" The Minstrel came once more to view 
The eastern ridge of Ben-venue, 
For, ere he parted, he would say. 
Farewell to lovely Loch-Achray — 
VYliere shall he find, in foreign land, 
So lone a lake, so sweet a strand ! — 

« A skirmish actually^ took place at a pass thns called in tho 
TTOSacbs, and closed with the remarkable incident mentioned in 
the text. It happened however so late as the invasimi of Scotland 
by Oliver Cromwell, one of whose soldiers was thus slain just as 
M had aimost secured the means of conveyance for his companions 
to_ the island at the extreniitv of Loch-Katrine. His party on 
tritnessing bds fate, abandoned theii- ferocious enterjpriise. 



S90 THE LADT OF THE LAK£. fOAinp Vl 

There is no breeze upon the fern, 

No ripple on the lake, 
Upon her eyrie nods the erne, 

The deer has sought the brake ; 
The small birds will not sing aloud. 

The springing trout lies still. 
So darkly glooms yon thunder cloud. 
That swathes, as with a purple shroud, 

Benledi's distant hill. 
Is it the thunder's solemn sound 

That mutters deep and dread, 
Or echoes from the groaning ground 

The warriors measured tread? 
Is it the lightning's quivering glance 

That on the thicket streams, 
Or do they Hash on spear and lance 

The sun's retiring beams ? 
• — I see the dagger-crest of Mar, 
I see the Moray's silver star. 
Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war, . 
That up the lake comes winding far ! 
To hero boune for battle- strife. 

Or bard of martial lay, 
'Twere worth ten years of peaceful life. 

One glance at their array I 



" Their light-armed archers far and near 

Surveyed the tangled ground, 
Their centre ranks, with pike and spear, 

A twilight forest frowned. 
Their barbed horsemen, in the rear, 

The stern battalia crowned. 
No cymbal clashed, no clarion rang, 

Still were the pipe and drum ; 
Save heavy tread, and armour's clang, 

The sullen march was dumb. 
There breathed no wind their crests to 

Or wave their flags abroad ; 
Scarce the frail aspen seemed to quake 

That shadowed o'er their road. 
Their vaward scouts no tidings bring. 

Can rouse no lurking foe, 



CANTO n.] THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 391 

Nor spy a trace of living thing. 

Save when they stirred the roe ; 
The host moves, like a deep sea- wave. 
Where rise no rocks its pride to brave, 

High-swelling, dark, and slow. 
The lake is passed, and now they gain 
A narrow and a broken plain, 
Before the Trosachs' rugged jaws ; 
And here the horse and spearmen pause, 
While, to explore the dangerous glen. 
Dive through the pass the archer-men. 



" At once there rose so wild a yell 
Within that dark and narrow dell, 
As all the fiends, from heaven that fell, 
Had pealed the banner-cry of hell ! 
Forth from the pass in tumult driven, 
Like chaff before the wind of heaven, 

The archery appear: 
For life ! for life ! their flight they ply— 
And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry, 
And plaids and bonnets waving high, 
And broad-swords flashing to the sky, 
Are maddening in their rear. 
Onward they drive, in di'eadful race, 

Pursuers and pursued ; 
Before that tide of flight and chase, 
How shall it, keep its rooted place, 
The spearmen's twilight wood ? 
— ' Down, do^vn,' cried Mar, ' your lances dawn I 

Bear back both friend and foe !' 
Like reeds before the tempest's frown. 
That serried grove of lances bro^vn 

At once lay levell'd low ; 
And closely shouldering side to side, 
The bristling ranks the onset bide. 
— ' We'll, quell the savage mountaineer, 
As their Tinchel* cows the game ! 

• A circle of sportsmen, who, by surrounding a ^reat space, and 
pradually narrowing, brought immense qnantiiiesnf deer t^ether, 
which usually mailedCKperate enorts to break through the Tinchel. 



392 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. tC^VNTO VI. 

They come as fleet as forest deer. 
We'll drive them back as tame.* 



XTin. 

" Bearing before them, in their course, 
The relics of the archer force, 
Like wave with crest of sparkling foam, 
Right onward did Clan- Alpine come. 

Above the tide, each broad-sword bright 

Was brandishing like beam ot light. 
Each targe was dark below ; 

And with the ocean's mighty swing, 

When heaving to the tempest's wing, 
They hurled them on the foe. 
I heard the lance's shivering crasli, 
As Avhen the whirlwind rends the ash ; 
1 heard the broad-sword's deadly clang, 
As if an hundred anvils rang ! 
But IMoray wheeled his rearward rank 
Of horsemen on Clan- Alpine's tlanli — 

' My banner-man, advance ! 
I see,' he cried, 'their column shake. 

Now, gallants ! for your ladies' sake, 
Upon them with the lance !' 
The horsemen dashed among the rout, 

As deer break through the broom ; 
Their steeds are stout, their swords are out, 

They soon make lightsome room. 
Clan- Alpine's best are backward borne — 

Where, where was Roderick then I 
One blast upon his bugle-hom 

Were worth a thousand men. 
And refluent through the pass of fear 

The battle's tide was pour'd ; 
Vanished the Saxon's stmggling spear, 

Vanished the mountain sword. 
As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and steep, 

Receives her roaring linn, 
As the dark caverns of the deep 

Suck the wild whirlpool in, 
So did the deep and darksome pass 
Devour the battle's mingled mass; 



CANTO VI.3 THE LADT OF THE LAKE. 398 

None linger now upon the plain, 
Save those who ne'er shall fight again. 



*• Now westward rolls the battle's din, 
Tliat deep and doubling pass within. 
Minstrel, away ! the work of fate 
Is bearing on : its issue wait, 
Where the rude Trosachs' dread defile 
Opens on Katrine's lake and isle. 
Grey Ben-venue I soon repassed, 
Loch-Katrine lay beneath me cast. 

The sun is set — the clouds are met — 
The lowering scowl of heaven 

An inky hue of livid blue 
To the deep lake has given ; 
Strange gusts of wind from mountain gltn 
Swept o'er the lake, then sunk agen. 
I heeded not the eddying surge, 
Mine eye but saw the Irosach's gorge, 
Mine ear but heard that sullen sound. 
Which like an earthquake shook the groiittS, 
And spoke the stem and desperate strife 
That parts not but with parting life. 
Seeming, to minstrel-ear, to toll 
The dirge of many a passing soul. 

Nearer it comes — the dim- wood glen 

The martial flood disgorged agen. 
But not in mingled tide ; 
The plaided warriors of the North, 
High on the mountain thunder forth, 

And overhang its side ; 
While by the lake below appears 
The darkening cloud of Saxon spears. 
At weary bay each shattered band. 
Eyeing their foemen, sternly stand ; 
Their banners stream like tatter'd sail. 
That flings its fragments to the gale. 
And broken arms and disarray 
Marked the fell havoc of the day. 
b2 



394 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. [cANTO VI 



" VieA\'iii^ the mountain's ridge askanee, 
The Saxons stood in sullen trance. 
Till Moray pointed with his lance, 

And cried — ' Behold yon isle ! 
See ! none are left to guard its strand. 
But women weak, that wring the hand : 
*Tis there of yore the robber band 

Their booty wont to pile ; — 
My purse, with bonnet^pieces store, 
To him will swim a bow-shot o'er. 
And loose a shallop from the shore. 
Lightly we'41 tame the war- wolf then, 
Lords of his mate, and brood, and den. 
Forth from the ranks a spearman sprung; 
On earth his casque and corslet rang, 

He plunged him in the wave : — 
All saw the deed — the purpose knew. 
And to their clamours Ben- venue 

A mingled echo gave ; 
The Saxons shout, their mate to cheer. 
The helpless females scream for fear, 
And yells for rage the mountaineer. 
'Twas then, as by the outcry riven, 
Poured down at once the lowering heaven ; 
A whirlwind swept Loch-Katrine's breast. 
Her billows reared their sno\vy crest. 
Well for the swimmer swelled they high. 
To mar the Highland marksman's eye ; 
For round him showered, 'mid rain and hailf 
The vengeful arrows of the Gael. 
In vain. He nears the isle — and lo I 
His hand is on a shallop's bow. 
—Just then a flash of lightning came, 
It tinged the waves and strand with flame*, 
I marked Duncraggan's widowed dame, 
Behind an oak I saw her stand, 
A naked dirk gleamed in her hand : — ■ 
It darkened — but amid the moan 
Of waves I heard a dying groan ;— 
Another flash ! the spearman floats 
A. "weltering corse beside the boats, 



CANTO VI.] THE lADTi OF THE LAKE, 

And the stem Matron o'er him stood. 
Her hand and dagger streaming blood. 

XXI. 
" ' Revenge ! revenge !' the Saxons cried. 
The Gaels' exulting shout replied. 
Despite the elemental rage, 
Again they hurried to engage ; 
But, ere they closed in desperate fight. 
Bloody with spurring came a knight, 
Sprang from his horse, and, from a crag, 
Waved 'twixt the hosts a milk-white flag. 
Clarion and trumpet by his side 
Rang forth a truce-note high and wide^ 
While, in the monarch's name, afar 
A herald's voice forbade the war, 
For Bothwell's lord, and Roderick bold, 
Were both, he said, in captive hold." 
— But here the lay made sudden stand 
The harp escap'd the minstrel's hand ! 
Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy 
How Roderick brooked his minstrelsy : 
At first, the Chieftain, to the chime, 
With lifted hand, kept feeble time ; 
That motion ceased — yet feeling strong 
Varied his look as changed the song ; 
A t length, no more his deafened ear 
The minstrel melody can hear ; 
His face grows sharp — his hands are clenched, 
As if some pang his heart-strings wrenched ; 
Set are his teeth, his fading eye 
Is sternly fixed on vacancy. 
Thus, motionless, and moanless, drew 
His parting breath, stout Roderick Dhu !— 
Old Allan-bane looked on aghast, 
While grim and still his spirit passed ; 
But when he saw that life was fled, 
He poured his wailing o'er the dead. 

XXII. 
LAMENT. 

** And art thou cold, and lowly laid. 
Thy foemen's dread, thy people's aid, 
Breadalbane's boast, Clan- Alpine's shada ; 



396 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. LCANTX) W, 

For thee shall none a requiem say ! 
— For thee, who loved the minstrel's lay, 
For thee, of Bothwell's house the stay, 
The shelter of her exiled Hue, 
E'en in this prison-house of thine, 
I'll wail for Alpine's honoured pine I 

*' What groans shall yonder valleys fill ! 
What shrieks of grief sliall rend yon hill t . 
What tears of burning rage shall thrill, 
When mourns thy tribe thy battles done, 
Thy fall before the race was won. 
Thy sword xmgirt ere set of sun I 
There breathes not clansman of thy lin«» 
But would have given his life for thine. 
Oh woe for Alpine's honoured pine ! 
" Sad was thy lot on mortal stage ! — 
The captive thmsh may brook the cage, 
The prisoned eagle dies for rage. 
Brave spirit, do not scorn my strain ! 
And, when its notes awake again. 
Even she, so long beloved in vain, 
Shall with my harp her voice combine, 
And mix her woe and teai's with mine. 
To wail Clan-Alpine's honoured pine." 



Ellen, the while, with bursting heart, 

Remained in lordly bower apart. 

Where played, with many-coloured gleattu^ 

Through storied pane the rising beams. 

In vain on gilded roof they fall, 

And lighten'd up a tapestried wall. 

And for her use a menial train 

A rich collation spread in vain. 

The banquet proud, the chamber gay. 

Scarce drew one curious glance astray ; 

Or, if she looked, 'twas but to say, 

With better omen dawned the day 

In that lone isle, where waved on high 

The dun deer's hide for canopy ; 

Where oft her noble father shared 

The simple meal her care prepared. 



CANTO VI.] THE LADV OF THE LAKE. 397 

While Lufra, crouching by her side, 

Her station claimed with jealous pride; 

And Douglas, bent on woodland game, 

Spoke of'the chase to Malcolm Grieme, 

V»'hose answer, oft at random made, 

The wandering of his thoughts betrayed — 

Those who such simple joys have kno'wii 

Are taught to prize them when they're gone. 

But sudden, see, she lifts her head ! 

The window seeks with cautious tread. 

^N'hat distant music has the power 

To win her in this woeful hour ! 

'Twas from a turret that o'erhung 

Her latticed bower, the strain was simg. 



LAY OF THE IMPRISONED HUNTSMAN. 

" My hawk is tired of perch and hood. 
My idle- greyhound loathes his food, 
My horse is weary of his stall, 
And I am sick of captive thrall. 
I wish 1 were as I have been. 
Hunting the hart in forests green, 
With bended bow and bloodhound free, 
For that's the life is meet for me. 

1 hate to learn the ebb of time. 
From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime, 
Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl, 
Inch after inch, along the wall 
The lark was wont my matins ring, 
The sable rook my vespers sing ; 
These towers, although a king's they be, 
Have not a hall of joy for me. 

No more at da'WTiing morn I rise. 
And sun myself in Ellen's eyes. 
Drive the rfeet deer the forest through. 
And homeward wend with evening dew ; 
A blithesome welcome blithely meet. 
And lay my trophies at her feet. 
While fled the eve on wing of glee — 
That life is lost to love and me l" 



THS LXDY OF THE LAKE. [CMMTO Tk 



xxr. 



The heart-sick lay was hardly said, ^ 

Tlie list'ner had not turned her head. 

It trickled still, the starting tear, 

Wlien light a footstep struck her ear, 

And Snowdoun's graceful Knight was near. 

She turned the hastier, lest again 

The prisoner should renew his strain. 

" Oh welcome, brave Fitz- James !" she said; 

" How may an almost orphan maid 

Pay the deep debt." " Oh say not so 

To me no gratitude you owe. 

Not mine, alas ! the boon to give, 

And bid thy noble father live ; 

I can but be thy guide, sweet maid. 

With Scotland's King thy suit to aid. 

No tyrant he, though ire and pride 

May lead his better mood aside. 

Come, Ellen, come ! — 'tis more than time ; 

He holds his court at morning prime." 

With beating heart, and bosom ■wrung. 

As to a brother's aim she clung. 

Gently he dried the falling tear. 

And gently whispered hope and cheer ; 

Her faltering steps half led, half staid, 

Through gallery fair and high arcade, 

Till, at his touch, its wings of pride 

A portal arch unfolded wide. 

XXVI. 

Within 'twas brilliant all and light, 
A thronging scene of figures bright ; 
It glowed on Ellen's dazzled sight, 
As when the setting sun has given 
Ten thousand hues to summer even, 
And, from their tissue, fancy frames 
Aerial knights and fairy dames. 
Still by Fitz-James her footing staid 
A few faint steps she forward made. 
Then slow her drooping head she raised. 
And fearful round the presence gazed ; 



«.AjerO VI.] TELE LADY OF THE LAKli. 399 

For him she sought, who OAvned this state. 

The dreaded prince whose will was fate » 

She gazed on many a princely port, 

Might well have ruled a royal court ; 

On many a splendid garb she gazed — 

Then turned bewildered and amazed. 

For all stood bare ; and, in the room, 

Fitz-Jaraes alone wore cap and plume. 

To him each lady's look was lent, 

On him each courtier's eye was bent ; 

Midst furs, and silks, and jewels sheen, 

He stood, in simple Lincoln green, 

The centre of the glittering ring — 

And Snowdoim's Knight is Scotland's King!* 



As wreath of snow on mountain breast, 

Slides from the rock that gave it rest; 

Poor Ellen glided from her stay, 

And at the Monarch's feet she lay ; 

No word her choking voice commands — 

She sho\^ed the ring — she clasped her hands. 

Oh ! not a moment could he brook, 

The generous prince, that suppliant look ! 

Gently he raised her — and the while 

Checked with a glance the circle's smile. 

Graceful, but grave, her brow he kissed, 

And bade her terrors be dismissed — 

" Yes, Fair ; the wandering poor Fitz-James 

The fealty of Scotland claims. 

To him thy woes, thy wishes, bring 

He will redeem his signet ring. 

Ask nought for Douglas — ^yester even. 

His prince and he have much forgiven : 

Wrong hath he had from slanderous tongue, 

I from his rebel kinsmen, wrong. 

We would not to the vulgar crowd 

Yield what they craved with clamour loud ; 

* James V., from his anxious attention to the interests of tho 
lower and most oppressed class of his subjects, was as we hare 
seen, popularly termed the King of the Commons. For the pur- 
pose ot seeing that justice was resularly anmiiiiKtered, and fre- 
quently fi-om the less justifiable motive of gallanii y, he used to 
traverse the vicinage of his several palaces inVai ions li&gui&es. 



400 THR LADY OF THE LAKE. [CANTO VI 

Calmly "we heard and juds^ed his cause. 
Our council aided and our laws. 
I stanched thy father's death-feud stern, 
With stoat De Vaux and grey Glencaim ; 
And Bothwell's Lord henceforth we own 
The friend and bulwark of our Throne. 
But, lovely intidel, how now ? 
What clouds thy misbelieving brow? 
Lord James of Douglas, lend thine aid; 
Thou must confirm this doubting maid," 

XXVIII. 

Then forth the noble Douglas sprung, 

And on his neck his daughter hung. 

The Monarch drank, that happy hour, 

The sweetest, holiest draught of power — 

When it can say, with godlike voice, 

Arise, sad Virtue, and rejoice ! 

Yet would not James the general eye 

On nature's raptures long should pry, 

lie stepp'd between — " Nay, Douglas, nay. 

Steal not my prosel}i;e away ! 

The riddle 'lis my right to read. 

That brought this happy chance to speed. 

Yes, Ellen, when diaguised I stray, 

In life's more low but happier way, 

'Tis under name which veils my power. 

Nor falsely veils — for Stirling's tower 

Of yore the name of Snowdoun claims,* 

And Normans call me James Fitz-James. 

Thus watch I o'er insulted laws. 

Thus learn to right the injured cause." 

Then, in a tone apart and low, 

— " Ah, little trait' ress ! none must know 

What idle dream, what lighter thought, 

WTiat vanity full dearly bought, 

Joined to thine eye's dark witchcraft, drew 

My spell-bound steps to Ben-venue, 



♦ William of Worcester, vrho wrote about the middle of rua 
ftfteenth century, calls Stirling Castle fnowdoun. It wm pro- 
bably derived from the romantic legend which connected btirhng 
with King Arthur, to which the meution of the round table gives 



CANTO VL] THE lADY OF THE LAKE. 

Tn dangerous hour, and all but gave 
Thy monarch's life to mountain glaive P 
Aloud he spoke — " Thou still dost hold 
That little talisman of gold. 
Pledge of my faith, Fitz-James's ring — 
What seeks fair Ellen of the King?" 

XXIX. 

Full •well the conscious maiden guessed. 

He probed the weakness of her breast ; 

But, Avnth that consciousness, there came 

A lightening of her fears for Gramme, 

And more she deemed the monarch's ire 

Kindled 'gainst him, who, for her sire, 

Rebellious broadsword boldly drew; 

And to her generous feeling true. 

She craved the giace of Roderick Dhu. 

" Forbear thy suit : — the King of kings 

Alone can stay life's parting wings. 

I know his heart, I know his hand. 

Have shared his cheer, and proved his brandy 

My fairest earldom would I give 

To bid Clan- Alpine's Chieftain live* 

Hast thou no other boon to crave ? — 

No other captive friend to save?" 

Blushing, she turned her from the King 

And to the Douglas gave the ring. 

As if she wished her sire to speak 

The suit that stained her glowing cheek. 

•' Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force, 

And stubborn justice holds her course. 

Malcolm, come forth !" — And. at the word, 

Down kneel'd the Gra;me to Scotland's Lord. 

•"■ For thee, rash youth, no suppliant sues, 

Prom thee may Vengeance claim her dues, 

Who, nurtured underneath our smile, 

Hast paid our care by treacherous wile^ 

And sought amid thy faithful clan, 

A refuge for an outlawed man. 

Dishonouring thus thy loyal name. 

Fetters and warder for the Graeme !** 

His chain of gold the King unstrung, 

The links o'er Malcolm's neck he dung, 



401 



402 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. tCANTO VI. 

Then gently drew the glittering band, 
And laid the clasp on Ellen's hand. 



Harp of the North, farev?'ell ! The hills grow dark, 

On purple peaks a deeper shade descending ; 
In twilio;ht copse the glow-worm lights her spark. 

The (ker, half-seen, are to the covert wending. 

Resume thy wizard elm ! the fountain lending, 
And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy ; 

Thy numbers sweet with Nature's vespers blending, 
"With distant echo from the fold and lea. 
And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hum of housing 

bee. 
Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel Harp 

Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway, 
And little reck I of the censure sharp 

May idly cavil at an idle lay. 

Much have I owed thy strains on life's long way, 
Through secret woes the world has never known. 

When on the weary night dawned wearier day. 
And bitterer was the grief devoured alone. 
That I o'erlive such woes. Enchantress ! is thine own. 
Hark ! as ray lingering footsteps slow retire. 

Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy string! 
'Tis now a Seraph bold, with touch of Are, 

'Tis now the brush of Fairy's frolic wiug. 

Receding now, the dying numbers ring 
Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell, 

And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring 
A wandering witch-note of tbe distant spell — 
Aud now, 'tis silent all 1 — I<jichantress,faro-the»-well! 



Thk foUo\Ting poem is founded upon a Spanish tradition, r.irti- 
tnlarly detailed in the notes ; but bearing, ia general, that J)on 
RoderK'li, the last Gotliic King of Spain, nheii the invasion of the 
Moors was impending, had the temerity to descend into an ancient 
vault, near Toledo, the opening ot which had been denounced as 
fatal to the Spanish mi)n.i.rchy. The legend adds, that his rash 
curiosity was mortilied by an emblematical representation of those 
Saracens who, in the year Tl-i,, osleated him in b.itlle, and i educed 
Spain under their dominion. I have presumed to prolong the vision 
of the revolutions of Spain down to the present eventtul crisis of 
the Peninsula; and to divide it, by a snpposeil change of scene, 
Into three periods. The first of these represents the invasion of the 
Moors, the defeat and death of Roderick, and clos«s with the 
peaceful occupation of the coimti-y by the victors. The second 
pet-iod embraces the state of the Peninsula, when the conquests of 
the Spaniards and Portuguese in the East and West Indies had 
raised to the highest pitch the renown of their arms; sullied, how- 
ever, by superstition and cruelty. Anallusion to theinbumanitiea 
of the Inquisition terminates this j ioture. The last purl of the 
poem np>?us with the tate of Spain previous to the imp -ralleled 
treachery of Buonap.vte ; ^vus a sketca of the usurpation at- 
tempted upon that unsuspicious and friendly kingdom, and ter- 
minates with thearrival cf the British succours. It may be farther 
propcfr to mention, that the object of the poem is less to com- 
memorate or detail particular incidents, than to exhibit a generai 
aud impressive picture of the several periods brought upon the 
stage. 

I am too sensible of the respect due to the Public, especially by 
one who has already experienced more than ordinary indulgence, 
to olTer any api)iogy for the infeHo~t7 of the poetry to the subject 
it is chiefly designed to commemorate. Yet I think it proper to 
mention, that, while I was hasti.y executing a work, written for 
a temporary purpose, and on passing e^ents, the task was most 
cruelly interrupted by the successive denths of Lord President 
Blair, and Lord Viscount Melville. In those distinguished charac- 
ters, I had not only to regret persons whose lives were nii-st im- 
portant to Scotland, but also whose notice and patronage honoured 
my entrance upon active life; and I may add, with melajicholy 
pride, who permitted my more advanced age to cIhuji no common 
share in their friendship'. L'nder such interruptions, the following 
verses, which my best and hajipiest efforts must have left far uu- 
worthy of their theme, have, 1 am myself sensible, an appearance 
of negligence and incoherence, which, in other c cumsttinceB, I 
jmgbt have been able to reiuove. "* 

EDUfBunaH, /ufM M, 1811. 



THE 
VISION OF DON RODEKICK. 



QOtD DIONtTM MBMOBARB TUIS, H18PAKIA, TKRRia, 

▼ OX BUMANA VALKT. OLAUDIAN. 



INTRODUCTION. 



Lives there a strain, "whose sounds of moimting 

May rise distinguish'd o'er the din of war, [fire. 
Or died it with yon master of the lyre. 

Who sung beleitguer'd Ilion's evil star ? 
Such, Wellington, might reach thee from afar. 

Wafting its descant wide o'er Ocean's range ; 
Nor shouts, nor clashing arms, its mood could mar. 

All as it swell'd twixteach loud trumpet-change, 
That clangs to Britain victory, to Portugal revenge ! 

n, 

Yes ! such a strain, with all-o'erpowering measure. 

Might melodize with each tumultuous sound, 
Elach voice of fear or triumph, woe or pleasure. 

That rings Mondego's ravaged shores around ; 
The thundering cry of hosts with conquest cro\\Ti'A, 

The female shriek, the ruin'd peasant's moan, 
The shout of captives from their chains unbound, 

The foil'd oppressor's deep and sullen groan, 
A nation's choral h^inn for tyranny o'erthrown. 

III. 
But we -weak minstrels of a laggard day, 
Skill'd but to imitate an elder page, 



406 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 

Timid and raptureless, can we repay 

The debt thou claim' st in this exhausted age ? 
Thou giv'st our lyres a theme, that might engage 
Those that could send thy name o'er sea and 
land, 
While sea and land shall last ; for Homer's rage 
A theme; a theme for Milton's mighty hand - 
How much unmeet for us, a faint degenerate band ! 

IV. 

Ye mountains stem ! "within "whose rugged breast 

The friends of Scottish freedom found repose ; 

Ye torrents ! whose hoarse sounds ha^-e soothed 

their rest, * 

Returning from the field of vanquish'd foes ; 

Say, have ye lost each wild majestic close, 

That erst the choir of bards or druids Hung, 
What time their hj-mn of victory arose, 

And Cattraeth's glens Avith voice of triumph 
rung, 
And mystic Merlin harp'd, and grey-hair'd Lly- 
warch sung.* 

V, 
O ! if your wilds such minstrelsy retain, 

As sure your changeful gales seem oft to say, 
When sweeping wild and sinking soft again. 
Like trumpet-jubilee, or harp's wild sway ; 
If ye can echo such triumphant lay, 

Then lend the note to him has loved you long 
Who pious gather'd each tradition grey. 
That lloats your solitary wastes along, 
And -with affection vain gave them new voice in song 
VI. 
For not till now, how oft soe'er the task 
Of truant verse hath lighten'd graver care, 



^fnch of the ancient poetry, preserved in Wales, refeti to 
ts vvliich happened in the y 
d, ^ 



;try, preservert m vvaies, reteta to 
North-west of England apd buuth- 
west of Scotland, where the Britons for a lone time mude a stand 
against the Saxons. — Lly\varch, the celebrated bard aud ui.jiiarch, 
was Prince of Arg-oon, in Cumberland ; and his yotiMiful exploits 
were performed upon the Border, althonerh in his aye he wM 
driven into Powyg by the successes of the Axtglo-Saxor.s. As for 
Merlin Wyllt, or the Savage, his name of Caledonian, and his re- 
treat into the Caledonian wood, appropriat«a him to Scotland. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICB; 407 

From muse or sylvan -was he wont to asK. 

In phrase poetic, inspiration fair; 
Careless he gave his numbers to the air,— 

They came unsought for, if applauses came ; 
Nor for himself pre^rs he now the prayer ; 

Let but his verse befit a hero's fame, 
Iiximortal he the verse ! — ^forgot the poet's name. 



Hark, from yon misty cairn their answer toss'd : 

" Minstrei ! the fame of whose romantic lyre, 
Capricious swelling now, ma,y soon be lost, 

Like the light flickering of a cottage fire : 
If to such task presumptuous thou aspire. 

Seek not from us the meed to warrior due ; 
Age after age has gather'd son to sire. 

Since our grey cliffs the din of conilict kniew, 
Or, pealing through our vales, victorious bugles blew, 

VIII. 
" Decay'd our old traditionaiy lore. 

Save where the lingering fays renew their ring, 

By milk-maid seen beneath the hawthorn hoar. 

Or round the marge of Minchmore's haunted 

spring -,* [sing, 

Save where their legends grey-hair'd shepherds 

That now scarce win a listening ear but thine. 
Of feuds obscure, and border ravaging, 
And rugged deeds recount in rugged line, 
Of moonlight foray made on Te\"iot, Tweed, or Tyne. 

IX. 

'•' No ! search romantic lands, where the near Sun 
Gives with unstinted boon ethereal flame, 

Where the rude villager, his labour done, 

In verse spontaneous'!' chants some favour'd 
name ; 



* A copioiis fountain upon the ridge of Afinchmore, caUed the 
CheeseweU, is supposed to be sacred to the fairies, and it was cua- 



tomary to propitiate them bv throwing iu something upon pasa- 
iagit. 

+ The flexibility of the Italian and Spanish languages, renders 
these coontries distinguiAhed for the talent of impruvisation. 



408 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 

Whether Olalia's charms his tribute claim 
Her eye of diamond, and her locks of jet ; 

Or whetner, kindling at the deeds of Graeme.* 
He sing, to wild Morisco measure set. 
Old Albin's red claymore, green Erin's bayonet ! 



*' Explore those regions, where the flinty crest 

Of wild Nevada ever gleams with snows, 
Where in the proud Alhambra's ruined breast 

Barbaric monuments of pomp repose ; 
Or where the banners of more ruthless foes 

Than the fierce Moor, float o'er Toledo's fane, 
From whose tall towers even now the patriot thrown 

An anxious glance, to spy upon the plain 
The blended ranks of England, Poi-tugal, and Spain. 



" There, of Numantian fire a swarthy spark 

Still lightens in the sun-burnt native's eye; 
The stately port, slow step, and visage dark, 

Still mark enduring pride and constancy. 
And, if the glow of feudal chivalry 

Beam not, as once, thy nobles' dearest pride, 
Iberia ! oft thy crestless peasantry 

Have seen the plumed Hidalgo quit their side, 
Have seen, yet dauntless stood — "gainst fortune fought 
and died. 



" And cherish'd still by that unchanging race, ^ 

Are themes for minstrelsy more high thaji thine ; 
Of strange tradition many a mystic trace, 

Legend and vision, prophecy and sign ; 
Where wonders wild of Arabesque combine 

With Gothic imagery of darker shade. 
Forming a model meet for minstrel line. [said : 

Go, seek such theme !" — The Mountain Spirit 
With filial awe I heard — I heard, and I obey'd. 



* The name of Grrribaine, in England is umially pronounced oa 8 
AiseyUable. 



THE VISION OV DON RODERICK. 409 

THE VISION. 



Rearing their crests amid tlie cloudless skies. 

And darkly clustering in the pale moonlight, 
Toledo's holy towers aud spires arise, 

As from a trembling lake of silver white; 
Their mingled shadows intercept the sight 

Of the broad burial-ground outstretch'd beloWt 
And nought disturbs the silence of the night ; 

All sleeps in sullen shado, or silver glow, 
All save the neavy swell of Tele's ceaseless flow. 

II. 

All save the rushing swell of Teio's tide, 

. Or, distant heard, a courser's neigh or tramp ; 

Their changing rounds as watchful horsemen ride. 

To ffuard the limits of King Roderick's camp. 
For, through the river's night-fog rolling damp, 

Was many a proud pavilion dimly seen, 
"Which glimmer'd b^ck, against the moon's fair 

Tissues of silk and silver twisted sheen, [lamp. 
And standards proudly pitch' d, and warders arm d 
between. 

III. 

But of their Monarch's person keeping ward, 

Since hvst the deep-mouth'd bell of vespers toU'd, 
The chosen soliiers of the royal guard 

Their post beneath the proud Cathedral hold : 
A band unlike their Gothic sires of old, 

Who, for the cap of steel and iron mace. 
Bear slender darts, and casques bedeck'd with gold, 

While silver-studded belts their shoulders grace, 
VVTiere ivory quivers ring in the broad falchion's 
place. 

IV. 

In the light language of an idle court. 

They murmur'd at their master's long dalAj, 

And held his lengthen'd orisons in sport : [stay, 
" What ! will Don Roderick here till morning 



410 THE Vision OF DON RODERICK. 

To wear in shrift and prayer the night away? 

And are his hours in such dull penance past 

For fair Florinda's plunder'd charms to pay?"* 

Then to the east their weary eyes they cast, 

And wish'd the lingering dawn would glimmer forth 

at kst. 

V. 

But, far within, Toledo's Prelate lent 

An ear of fearful wonder to the King ; 
The silver lamp a fitful lustre sent. 

So long that sad confession witnessing : 
For Roderick told of many a hidden thing, 

Such as are lothly utter'd to the air, 
When Fear, Remorse, and Shame, the bosom wring, 

And Guilt his secret buithen cannot bear. 
And Conscience seeks in speech a respite from 
Despair. 

Tl. 

Full on the Prelate's face, and silver hair, 

The stream of failing light was feebly roll'd; 
But Roderick's visage, though his head was bare, 

Was shadow'd by his hand and mantle's fold. 
While of his hidden soul the sins he told. 

Proud Alaric's descendant could not brook, 
That mortal man his bearing should behold, 

Or boast that he had seen, when conscience shook, 
Fear tame a monarch's brow, remorse a warrior's 
look. 

VII. 

The old man's faded cheek wax'd yet more pale, 
As many a secret sad the king bewray'd ; 

And sign and glance eked out the unfinished tale. 
When in the midst his faltering whisper staid. 



* The invasion of the Moors is generally attributed to the for. 
cible violation committed by Roilertck upon Florinda, called by 
the Moors, Caba, or Cava, the dau!(hter of Count Julian. In biK 
indignation Julian formed an alliance with the Moors, and coun- 
tenanced the invasion of Spain I y a body ol Saracens and Afrioane, 
commanded by the celebrated Tarik ; the issue of which was the 
defeat and death of Roderick, and the occupation of almost the 
trhole peninsula hy the enemy. 



THE VISION OF DON aODERICK. 411 

•'ITius royal Witiza* was slain," — he said; 

" Yet, holy father, deem not it was I."- 
Thus still Ambition strives her crimes to shade— 

" O rather deem 'twas stern necessity ! 
Self-preservatiou bade, and 1 must kill or die. 

VIII. 

" And, if Florinda's shrieks alarm'd the air, 

If she invoked her absent sire in vain, 
And on her knees implored that I would spare, 

Yet, reverend priest, thy sentence rash refrain ! — 
All is not as it seems — the female train 

Know by their bearing to disguise their mood:" 
But Conscience here, as if in high disdain, 

Sent to the iMouarch's cheek the burning blood- 
He stay'd his speech abrupt — and up the Prelata 
stood. 

IX. 

*'.0 harden'd offspring of an iron race ! 

"What of thy crimes, Don Roderick, shall I say? 
What alms, or prayers, or penance can efface 

Murder's dark spot, wash treason's stain away I 
For the foul ravisher how shall I pray, [boast? 

Who, scarce repentant, makes his crime his 
How hope Almighty vengeance shall delay, 

Unless, in mercy to yon Christian host. 
He spare the shepherd, lest the guiltless sheep be 
lost." — 

X. 

Then kindled the dark tyrant in his mood. 

And to his brow retuin'd its dauntless gloorn ; 
"And welcome then," he cried, "'be blood for blood. 

For treason treachery, for dishonour doom ! 
Yfct will I know whence come they, or by whom. 

Show, for thou canst — give forth the fated key, 
And guide me, Priest, to that mysterious room, 

W here, if aught true in old tradition he. 
His nation's future fates a Spanish King shall see." — 



» The predecessor of Roderick upon the Spanish throne, and 
slain by his connivance, as i« at&rmed by Kodriguez of Toledo, th9 
fetlier ot Spanish history. 



412 THE VISION OF DON ROri RICK. 

XI 

" Ill-fated prince ! recall the desperate word, 

Or pause ere yet the omen ihou obey ! 
Bethink, yon spell-hound portal would afford 

Never to former Monarch entrance-way ; 
Nor shall it ever ope, old records say. 

Save to a King, the last of all his line, 
What time his empire totters to decay. 

And treason digs, beneath, her fatal mine, 
And, high above, impends avenging wrath divine."" — 

XII. 

— " Prelate 1 a Monarch's fate brooks no delay ! 

Lead on !" — The ponderous key the old man took. 
And held the winking lamp, and led the way 

By winding stair, dark aisle, and secret nook, 
Then on an ancient gateway bent his look ; 

And, as the key the desperate King essayed, 
Low mutter'd thunders the Cathedral shook. 

And twice he stopp'd, and twice new effort made, 
Till the huge bolts roll'd back, and the loud hinges 
bray'd. 

XIII. 

Long, large, and lofty, was that vaulted hall ; 

Roof, walls, and floor, were all of marble stone^ 
Of polish'd marble, black as funeral pall. 

Canned o'er with signs and characters unknown, 
A paly light, as of the downing, shone 

Through the sad bounds, but whence they could 
not spy ; 
For window to the upper air was none ; 

Yet, by that light, Don Roderick could descry 
IVondjrs that ne'er till then were seen by mortal eye- 

XIV. 
Grim sentinels, against the upper wall, 

Of molten bronze, two Statues held their place ; 
Massive their naked limbs, their stature tall, 

Their frowning foreheads golden circles gi-ace. 
Moulded they seem'd for kings of giant race, 

That lived and sinn'd before the avenging flood; 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK, 413 

This grasp'd a scjiilie, that rested on a mace ; 
This spread his wiugs for liight, that pondering 
stood, 
Elach stubborn seem'd and stern, immutable of mood. 

XV. 

Fix'd was the right-hand Giant's brazen look 

Upon his brother's glass of shifting sand, 
As if its ebb he measured by a book, 

Whose iron volume loaded his huge hand ; 
In which was \\TOte of many a falling land. 

Of empires lost, and kings to exile driven; 
And o'er that pair their names in scroll expand — 

" Lo, Destiny and Time ! to whom by Heaven 
The guidance of the earth is for a season given." — 

XVI. 
Even while they read, the sand-glass wastes away ; 

And, as the last and lagging grains did creep, 
That right-hand Cfiant 'gau his club upsway, 

As one that startles from a heavj' sleep. 
FuU-^n the upper wall the mace's sweep 

At once descended with the force of thunder, 
And, hui'ling down at once, in crum])led heap. 
The marble boundary was rent asunder, 
And gave to Roderick's view new sights of fear and 
wonder. 

XVII. 

For they might spy, beyond that mighty breach, 

Realms as of Spain in visiou'd prospect laid, 
Castles and towers, in due proportion each. 

As by some skilful artist's hand portray 'd: 
Here, cross'd by many a wild Sierra's shade. 

And boundless plains that tire the traveller's eye; 
There, rich with vineyard and with olive-glade, 

Or deep-embrown'd by forests huge and high, 
Or wash'd bv mighty streams, that slowly mui> 
mur'd by. 

XVIII. 

And here, as erst upon the antique stage 
Pass'd forth the bands of masq^uers trimly led. 



414 THE VISION OF PON RODERICK. 

In various forms, and various equipage, 

While fitting strains the hearer's fancy fed ; 
So, to sad Roderick's eye in order spread, 

Successive pageants fill'd that mystic scene. 
Showing the fate of battles ere they bled, 

And issue of events that had not been ; [tween. 
And ever and anon strange sounds were heard b^ 
XIX. 
First shrill 'd an unrepeated female shriek! — 

It seem'd as if Don Roderick knew the call, 
For the bold blood was blanching in his cheek.— r 

Then answer'd kettle-drum and atabal. 
Gong-peal and cj-mbal-clank the ear appal, 
The Tecbir war-cry, and the Leiies yell,* 
Ring wildly dissonant along the hall. 
Needs not to Roderick their dread import tell — 
** The Moor !" he cried, " the Moor ! — ring out tli» 
tocsin bell ! 

XX. 
*' They come ! they come ! I see the gi'oaning lands 

White with the turbans of each Arab horde, 
Swart Zaarah joins her misbelieving bands, 

Alia and Mahomet their battle- word, 
The choice they yield the Koran or the sword. — 
See how the Christians rush to anus amain . — 
In yonder shout the voice of conflict roar'd ; 
The shado-vsy hosts are closing on the plain — 
Now, God and St lago strike, for the good cause of 
Spain !" 

XXI. 

" By heaven, the Moors prevail ! the Christians 
yield ! — 

Their coward leader gives for flight the sign ! 
The sceptred craven mounts to quit the field — 

Is not yon steed Orelia? — Yes, 'tis mine !+ 

* The tecbir; (derived from the words j^lla acbar, God is most 
mighty,) was the original war-cry of the Saracens. The Le/ii, 
W(;ll known to the Christians durin? the crusades, is the shout ol 
^lla ilia y4lla, the Mahomedau confession of faith. 

+ In the haltle of Xeres foutht by Don Boderick against the 
Moors A.D. 714s the Spaniards were defeated with great slaughter, 
and the king himself was drowned in the Xeres while CK>SKin? it 
in bis flight. Orelia, the courser of Don Roderick, weis celebrated 
for her speed and form. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 415 

But never was she tum'd from battle line ; — 

Lc ! where the recreant spurs o'er stock and 

Curses pursue the slave and wrath divine ! [stone ! 

Rivers engulf him !" — "■ Hush," in shuddering 

tone. 

The Prelate said ; " rash Prince, yon vision'd form's 

thine own." — 

XXII. 

Just then, a torrent crossed the flier's course ; 

The dangerous ford the Kingly Likeness tried ; 
But the deep eddies whelm'd both man and horse, 

Swept like benighted peasant down the tide ; 
And the proud Moislemah spread far and wide, 

As numerous as their native locust band; 
Berber and Ismael's sons the spoils divide, 

With naked scimitars mete out the land, 
And for their bondsmen base the freebom nativea 
brand. 

XXIII. 
Then rose the grated Harem, to enclose 

The loveliest maidens of the Christian line ; 
Then, menials to their misbelie\'ing foes, 

Castile's young nobles held forbidden wine ; 
Then, too, the holy Cross, salvation's sign. 

By impious hands was from the aJtar thrown. 
And the deep aisles of the polluted shrine 
Echoed, for holy hjTnn and organ tone. 
The Santon's frantic dance, the L'akir's gibbering 
moan. 

XXIV. 

How fares Don Roderick ? — E'en as one who spies 

Flames dart their glare o'er midnight's sable 
woof. 
And hears around his children's piercing cries, 

Acd sees the pale assistants stand aloof; 
While cruel Conscience brings him bitter proof, 

His folly, or his crime, have caused his grief ; 
And, while above him nods the crumbling roof. 

He curses earth and heaven — himself in chief- 
Desperate of earthly aid, despairing Heaven's relief 1 



416 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 

XXV. 

That scythe-armed Giant turned liis fatal glass. 

And twilight on the landscaj^e closed her wings ; 
Far to Asturian hills the war-sounds pass, 

And in their stead rebeck or timbrel rings ; 
And to the sound the bell-deck'd dancer springs. 

Bazars resound as when their marts are met, 
In tourney light the Moor his jerrid llings, 

And on the land ar evening seem'd to set, 
The Imaum's chant was heard from mosque oi 
minaret. 



So pass'd that pageant. Ere another came, 

The visionary scene was wrapp'd in smoke. 
Whose sulph'rous wreaths were cross'd by sheets 
of iiame ; 
With every flash a bolt explosive broke. 
Till Roderick deem'd the fiends had burst their 
yoke. 
And waved 'gainst heaven the infernal gon- 
falone ! 
For War a new and dreadful language spoke. 
Never by ancient warrior heard or known : 
Lightning and smoke her breath, and thunder waa 
her tone. 

XXVII. 

From the dim landscape roll the clouds away — 

The Christians have regain'd their heritage ; 
Before the Cross has waned the Crescent's ray, 

And many a monastery decks the sta^e. 
And lofty church, and low-brow'd hermitage. 

The land obeys a Hermit and a Knight, — 
The Genii these of Spain for many an a^e ; 

This clad in sackcloth, that in armour bright, 
And that was Valour named, this Bigotiiy vras 
bight. 

XXVIII. 

Valour was hamess'd like a Chief of old, 
Axm'd at all points, and prompt for knightly gest ; 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK, 



417 



His sword vras temper'd in the Ebro cold, 
Morena's eagle-plume adoru'd his crest, 

The spoils of Afric's liou bound his breast. 

Fierce he stepp'd forward and Hung down Lia 

As if of mortal kind to brave the best. [gage, 

Him foUow'd his Companion, dark and sage, 
As he, my Master, sung the dangerous Archimage. 

XXIX. 

Haughty of heart and brow the Warrior came, 

In look and language proud as proud might be. 
Vaunting his lordship, lineage, fights and fame, 

Yet was that bare-foot Monk more proud than 
And as the iv-y climbs the tallest tree, [he ; 

So round the loftiest soul his toils he wound. 
And with his spells subdued the fierce and free. 

Till ermined Age, and Youth in arms renown'd, 
Honouring his scourge and hair-cloth, mifekly kiss'd 
the ground. 

XXX. 

And thus it chanced that Valour, peerless Knight, 

Wlio ne'er to King or Kaisar veiFd his crest. 
Victorious still in bull-feast, or in fight. 

Since first his limbs with mail he did invest, 
Stoop'd ever to that Anchoret's behest ; 

Nor reason'd of the right nor of the wrong, 
But at his bidding laid the lance in rest, 

And wrought fell deeds the troubled world along. 
For he was fierce as brave, and pitiless as strong. 

XXXI, 

Oft his proud galleys sought some neAV found world. 

That latest sees the sun, or first the morn ; 
Still at that Wizard's feet their spoils he hmi'd, — • 

Ingots of ore from rich Potosi borne. 
Crowns by Caciques, aigrettes by Omrahs worn. 

Wrought of rare gems, but broken, rent, and 
Idols of gold from heathen temples torn, [foul ; 
Bedabbled all with blood. — With grisly scowl 
The Hermit mark'd the stains, and smiled beneath 
his cowU 

S3 



418 THE VISION OP DON RODERICK. 

XXXII. 
Then did he bless the offering, and bade 

Tribute to heaven of giatitude and praise ; 
And at his word the choral hymns awake, 

And many a hand the silver censer sways. 
But with the incense-breath these censers raise, 

Mix steams from corpses smouldering in the fire , 
The groans of prison'd victims mar the lays, 
And shrieks of agony confound the quire, 
While, 'mid the mingled sounds, the darken'd scenes 
expire. 

XXXIII. 
Preluding light, were strains of music heard, 

As once again revolved that measured sond ; 
Such sounds as v/hen, for sylvan dance ]r>repared. 

Gay Xeres summons forth her vintage band ; 
When fo»the light Bolero ready stand 

The Mozo blithe, with gay Muchacha met,* 
He conscious of his broider'd cap and baud. 

She of her netted locks and ligiit corsette. 
Each tiptoe perch'd to spring, and shake the ca^tanet 

XXXIV. 

And well such sti-ains the opening scene became; 

For Valour had relaxed his ardent look. 
And at a lady's feet, like lion tame. 

Lay stretch' d, full loth the weight of anus to 
brook ; 
And soften'd BiGOTRY, upon his book, 

Patter'd a task of little good or ill : 
But the blithe peasant plied his pruning-hook, 

"Wliistled the muleteer o'er vale and hill, 
And rung from, village-green the meriy Seguidiile. 



Grey Royalty, grown impotent of toil. 
Let the grave sceptre slip his lazy hold, 

And careless saw his rule become the spoil 
Of a loose Female and her Minion bold ; 

* The Bolero is a very light and active dance, miicb practised 
by the Spauiardg, in which castjuiets are always used, Mozo and 
iluchaeka are eqairalent to our phrase of lad and lass. 



TUB VISION OP DON RODERICK. 419 

But peace "was on the cottage and the fold, 

From court intrigue, from bickering faction far , 
Beneath the chesnut tree Love's tale was told ; 
And to the tinkling of the light guitar. 
Sweet stoop d the -western sun, sweet rose the even- 
ing star. 

XXXVI. 

As that sea-cloud, in size like human hand 

When first from Carmel by the Tishbite seen, 
Came slowly overshadowing Israel's land, 

Awhile, perchance, bedeck'd with colours sheen, 
While yet the sunbeams on its skirts had been, 

Limning with purple and'wdth gold its shroud, 
Till darker folds obscured the blue serene. 

And blotted heaven with one broad sable cloud — 
Then sheeted rain burst down, and whirlwinds howl'd 
aloud ; — 

XXXVII. 

Even so upon that peaceful scene was pour'd, 

Like gathering clouds, full many a foreign hand, 
And He, their Leader, wore in sheath his sword, 

And ofier'd peaceful front and open hand ; 
Veiling the perjured treachery he plann'd. 

By friendship's zeal and honour's specious guise, 
Until he won the passes of the land ; 
Then, burst were honour's oath, and friendship's 
ties! 
He clutch'd his vulture-grasp, and call'd fair Spain 
his prize. 

XXXVIII. 

An Iron Crown nis anxious forehead bore ; 

And well such diadem his heart became, 
Who ne'er his purpose for remorse gave o'er, 

Or check'd his course for piety or shame ; 
Who, train'd a soldier, deem'd a soldier's fame 

Might flourish in the wreath of battles won. 
Though neither truth nor honour ^eck'd his name; 

Who, placed by fortune on a Monarch's throne, 
Reck'd not of Monarch's faith, or Mercy's kingly tone. 



420 THE VISION OF DON ROUEIUCK. 

XXXIX. 

From a nide isle his ruder lineage came : 

The spark, that, from a suburb hovel's hearth 
Ascending, wraps some capital in ilarae. 

Hath not a meaner or more sordid birth. 
And for the soul that bade him waste the earth — 

The sable land-flood from some swamp obscure. 
That poisons the glad husband-field with dearth, 

And by destruction bids its fame endure, 
Hath not a source more sullen, 'stagnant, and impure. 

XL. 
Before that Leader strode a shado^sNy Form : 

Her limbs like mist, her torch like meteor show'd, 
With which she beckon 'd him through fight and 
storm, 
And all he crush'd that cross'd his desperate road, 
Nor thought, nor fear'd, nor look d on what he 
trode ; 
Realms could not glut his pride, blood could not 
slake. 
So oft as e'er she shook her torch abroad — 
It was Ambition bade his terrors wake, 
Nor deign'd she, as of yore, a milder form to take. 



No longer now she spurn'd at mean revenge, 

Or stayed her hand for conquered foeman's moan. 
As when, the fates of aged Rome to change. 

By Caesar's side she crossd the Rubicon ; 
Nor joy d she to bestow the spoils she won. 

As w-hen the banded powers of Greece were task'd 
To war beneath the Youth of JNIacedon : 

No seemly veil her modem minion a.<k'd. 
He saw her hideous face, and loved the fiend un- 
mask' d. 

XLII. 
That Prelate raark'd his march — On banners blazed 

With battles won in many a distant land, 
On eagle-standards and on arms he gaz'd ; 
*' And hop'srthou, then," he said, " thy power 
shaU stand? 



THE VTFtON OF DON RODERICK. 421 

O tliou hast builded on the shifting sand. 

And thou hast temper d it with slaughter's flood ; 

And know, fell scourge ia the Almighty's hand ! 

Gore-moisten'd trees shall 2>erish in the bud, 

And, by a bloody death, shall die the Mau of Blood !" 

XLiir. 
The nithlesa Leader beckon'd from his train 

A wan fraternal Shade, and bade him kneel, 
And paled his temples with the crovii of Spain, 

While trumpets rang, and heralds cried, " Cas» 

tile r* 

Not that he loved him — No ! — in no man's weal, 

Scarce in his own, e'er joy'd that sullen heart ; 

Yet round that throne he bade liis warriors wheel, 

That the poor puppet might peiiorm his part, 

And be a sceptred slave, at his stern beck to start. 

XLIV. 

But on the Natives of that Land misused. 

Not long the silence of amazement hung, 
Nor brook'd they long their friendly faith abused ; 

For, with a common shriek, the general tongue 
Exclaim'd, ''To arms !" and fast to arms they sprung. 

And Valour woke, tRat Genius of the land ! 
Pleasure, and ease, and sloth, aside he flung. 

As burst the awakening Nazarite his band. 
When 'gainst his treacherous foes he clench'd his 
dreadful hand. 

XLV, 
That mimic Monarch now cast anxious eyo 

Upon the Satraps that begirt him round. 
Now doiTd his royal robe in act to fly, 

And from his brow the diadem unbound 
So oft, so near, the Patriot bugle wound. 

From Tarik's walls to Bilboa's mountains blo-rtu 
These martial satellites hard labour found. 

To guard awhile his substitulfed throne — 
Light recking of his cause, but battling for their own. 

♦ The heralds at the coronation of a Spanish monarch proclaim 
hla name three times, and repeat three times the word CcuiUla^ 
Castillo, Cantilla ! 



422 THE VISION OF DON BODISICK. 



From Alpuhara's peak that bugle rung, 

And it was echoed from Corunna's wall ; 
Stately Seville responsive war-shout flung, 

Granada caught it in her Moorish hall ; 
Galicia bade her children fight or fall, 

Wild Biscay shook his mountain-coronet. . 
Valencia roused her at the battle-call. 

And, foremost still where Valour's sons are met 
Fast started to his gun each tiery Miquelet. 

XLVII. 

But unappaird, and burning for the fight, 
The Invaders march, of victory secure ; 
Skilful their force to sever or unite, 

And train'd alike to vanquish or endure. 
Nor skilful less, cheap conquest to ensure, 
Discord to breathe, and jealousy to sow. 
To quell by boasting, and by bribes to lure ; 

While nought against them bring the unprac- 
tised foe. 
Save hearts for freedom's cause, and hands for free- 
dom's blow. 

XLflll. 

Proudly they march — but O ! they march not forth 

By one hot field to crown a brief campaign. 
As when their eagles, sweeping through the >i orth, 

Destroy'd at every stoop an ancient reign ! 
Far other fate had Heaven decreed for Spain; 

In vain the steel, in vain the torch w'as plied, 
New Patriot armies started from the slain, 

High blazed the war, and long, and far, and wide. 
And oft the God of Battles bless'd the righteous side, 

XLIX. 

Nor unatoned, where Freedom's foes prevail, 
Remaiu'd their savage waste. With blade and 
brand. 

By day the Invaders ravaged hill and dale, 
But, with the darkness, the Guerilla band 

Came like night's tempest, and avenged the land, 
And claim'd for blood the retribution due. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 423 

Frobed the hard heart, and lopp'd the murderous 
hand ; ^ 

And Da\vn, when o'er the scene her beams she 
threw, 
'Midst ruins they had made the spoilers' corpses knew. 
L. 
VMiat Minstrel verse may sing, or tongue may tell, 

Amid the vision'd strife from sea to sea. 
How oft the Patriot banners rose or fell, 

Still honour'd in defeat as victor}' ! 
For that sad pageant of events to be, 

Show'd every form of tight by field and flood ; 
Slaughter and Ruin, shouting forth their glee, 
Beheld, while riding on the tempest-scud. 
The waters choked with slain, the earth bedrench'd 
with blood ! 



Then Zaragoza — blighted be the tongue 

That names thy name without the honour due ! 
For never hath the liarp of minstrel rung. 
Of faith so felly proved, so firmly true ! 
Mine, sap, and bomb, thy shatter'd ruins knew 

Each art of war's extremity had room, 
Twice from thyhalf-sack'd streets the foe withdrew, 
And when at length stern Fate decreed thy doom. 
They won not Zaragoza, but her children's bloody 
tomb.* 

LII. 
Yet raise thy head, sad City ! Though in chains, 
Enthrall 'd thou canst not be ! Arise and claim 
Reverence from every heart where Freedom reigns. 
For what thou worshippest ! — thy sainted Dame, 
She jf the Column, honoui-"d be her name. 

By all, whate'er their creed, who honour love I 
. And like the sacred relics of the flame. 

That gave some martyr to tlie blest above. 
To every loyal heart may thy sad embers prove ! 

* The interesting account of Mr Vaaghan has made most readeri 
acquainted with the Brst sie;<e of Zara^joza, The last and fatal siege 
of that gaUant and devoted city is detailed with great eloquence 
and precision in the «• Edinburgh Annual Register" tor IS09. 



424 THE VISION OP DON RODERICK. 

LIII. 

^or tltine alone such wreck. Gerona fair ! 

Faithful to death thy heroes should be suu^. 
Manning the towers while o'er their heads ttit aii 

Swart as the smoke from raging furnace hung ; 
Now thicker darkening where the mine was sprung, 

Now briefly lighten'd by the cannon's flare. 
Now arch'd with hre-sparks as the bomb was flung, 

And reddening now with conflagration's glare. 
While by the fatal light the foes for storm prepare. 



While all around was danger, strife, and fear. 

While the earth shook, and darkened was the sky, 
And wide Destruction stunned the listening eai', 

Appall'd the heart, and stupiiied the eye, — 
Afar was heard that thrice-repeated cry. 

In which old Albion's heart and tongue unite, 
Whene'er her soul is up and pulse beats high. 

Whether it hail the wine-cup or the fight. 
And bid each arm be strong, or bid each heart be light. 



Don Roderick turn'd him as the shout grew loud — 

A varied scene the changeful vision show'd, 
For where the ocean mingled with the cloud, 

A gallant na\'y stemm'd the billoM's broad. 
From mast and stem St George's symbol flow'd, 

Blent with the silver cross to Scotland dear; 
Mottling the sea their landward barges row'd. 

And flasli'd the sun on bayonet, brand, and spear, 
And the wild beach retui'u'dthe seaman's jovial cheei; 

LVI, 

It was a dread, yet spirit-stirring sight ! 

The billows foam'd beneath a thousand oars, 
Fast as they land the red-cross ranks unite, 

Legions on legions brightening all the shores. 
Then banners rise, and cannon-signal roars, 

Theji peals the warlike t^iunder of the drum, 



THE VISION OF DOX RODERICK. 425 

Thrills the loud fife, the trumjiet-iiourish pours, 
And patriot hopes awake, and doubts are dumb, 
For, bold in Freedom's cause, the bands of Ocean 
come! 

LVII. 
A various host they came — whose ranks display 

Each mode in which the warrior meets the fight, 
The deep battalion locks its firm array, 

And meditates his afm the marksman light ; 
Far glance the lines of sabres flashing bright, 
Where mounted scjuadrons shake the echoing 
mead. 
Lacks not artillery breathing flame and night. 
Nor the fleet ordnance whirl'd by rapid steed, 
That rivals lightning's flash in ruin and in speed. 

LVIII. 

A various host — from kindred realms they came, 

Brethren in arms, but rivals in renown — 
For yon fair bands shall merry England claim, 

And with their deeds of valour deck her crown. 
Hers their bold port, and hers their martial frown, 

And hers their scorn of death in freedom's canse, 
Their eyes of azure, and their locks of brown, 

And the blunt speech that bursts without a pause. 
And freebom thoughts, which league the Soldier 
with the Laws. 

LIX. 

And ! loved warriors of the Minstrel's laud ! 

Yonder your bonnets nod, your tartans wave I 
The rugged form may mark the mountain band. 

And harsher features, and a mien more grave ; 
But ne'er in battle-field throbb'd heart so brave 

As that which beats beneath the Scottish plaid, 
And when the pibroch bids the battle rave. 

And level for the charge your arms are laid. 
Where lives the desperate foe, that for such onset 
. staid! 

LX. 

Hark ! from yon stately ranks what laughter rings, 
Mingling void mirth with war's stem minstrelsy. 



426 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 

His jest while each blithe comrade round him flings. 

And moves to death with military glee : 
Boast, Erin, boast them ! tameless, frank, and free, 
In kindness warm, and tierce in danger known, 
Rough Nature's children, humorous as she : 
And He, yon Chieftain — strike the proudesf 
tone 
Of thy bold harp, green Isle ! — the Hei"o is thine owa, 

LXI. 

Now on the scene Vimeira should be shown. 
On Talavera's fight should Roderick gaze, 
And hear Conmua wail her battle won. 

And see Busaco's crest with light'ning blaze : — 
But shall fond fable mix with heroes' praise ? 
Hath Fiction's stage for Truth's long triumphs 
room? 
And dare her wild-flowers mingle with the bays, 
That claim a long eternity to bloom 
Around the warrior's crest, and o'er the warrior's 
tomb ! 



Or may I give adventurous Fancy scope. 

And stretch a bold hand to the awful veil 
That hides futurity from anxious hope. 

Bidding beyond it scenes of glory hail, 
And painting P^urope i-ousing at the tale 

Of Spain's invaders from her confines hurl'd, 
Wliile kindling Nations buckle on their mail, 

And Fame, with clai'ion-blast and wings nn- 
furl'd, 
To freedom and revenge awakes an injured World. 

LXIII. 
O vain, though anxious, is the glance I cast, 

Since Fate has mark'd futurity her owu : — 
Yet Fate resigns to W orth the glorious past, 

The deeds recorded and the laurels won. 
Then, though the Vault of Destiny be gone, 

King, Prelate, all the phantasms of my brain,- 
Melted away like mist- wreaths in the sun. 

Yet grant for faith, for valour, and for Spain, 
One note of pride and fire, a Patriot's parting strain. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 427 

CONCLUSION. 
I. 

•*Who shall command Estrella's mountain-tide 

Back to the source, -wlien tempest-chafed, to hie ? 
Who, when Grascogne's vexed gulf is raging wide. 

Shall hush it as a nm-se her infant's cry ? 
His magic power let such vain boaster try. 

And when the tonent shall his voice obey, 
And Biscay's whirlwinds list his lullaby. 

Let him stand forth and bar mine eagles' way, 
And they shall heed his voice, and at his bidding 
Stay. 

II. 

" Else, ne'er to stoop, till high on Lisbon's towers 

They close their Avings, th^ s)-mbol of our yoke. 
And their own sea hath whehn'd yon red-cross 
Power ! " — 

Thus, on the summit of Alverca's rock. 
To Marshal, Duke, and Peer, Gaul's leader spoke. 

While downward on the land his legions press, 
Before them it was rich Avith vine and flock. 

And smiled like Eden in her summer dress ; — 
Behind their wasteful march, a reeking wilderness.* 

III. 
And shall the boastful Chief maintain his word. 
Though Heaven hath heard the wailings of the 
land. 
Though Lusitania whet her vengeful sword, 
Though Britons arm, and Wellington com- 
mand! 
No : grim Busaco's iron ridge shall stand 

An adamantine barrier to his force ! 
And from its base shall wheel his shatter'd band- 
As from the unshaken rock the torrent hoarse 
Bears off its broken waves, and seeks a devious 
course. 

* I have ventured to apply to the movements of the French army 
that sublime passage in the prophecies of Joel, Chap. ii. 3. " A lire 
devoureth before them, and behind them a flame burneth: the 
land is as the garden of Eden before them, and behind them« 
desoiate wilderness, yea. and nothing shall escape theui," 



428 THE VISION OF DON BODKRICK. 

IV. 

Yet not because Alcoba.'s mountain-hawk 

Hath on his best and bravest made her food, 
In numbers coniident, yon Chief shall baulk 

His Lord's imperial thirst for spoil and blood : 
For full in view the promised conquest stood. 
And Lisbon's matrons, from their walls, might 
sum 
The myriads that had half the world subdued. 
And hear the distant thundf,rs of the drum. 
That bids the band of France to stoira and havoc 
come. 

V. 

Four moons have heard these thunders idly roU'd, 

Have seen these wistful myriads eye their prej, 
As famish'd wolves survey a guarded fold — 

But in the middle path, a Lion lay ! 
At length they move — but not to battle-fray, 

Nor blaze yon iires where meets the manly fight ; 
Beacons of infamy, they light the way, 

Where cowardice and cruelty unite. 
To damn with double shame their ignomiuious flight ! 

vz. 

triumph for the Fiends of Lust and wrath ! 

Ne'er to be told, yet ne'er to be forgot. 
What wanton horrors mark'd their wrackful path! 

The peasant butcher'd in his ruin'd cot. 
The hoaiy priest even at the altar shot, 

Childhood and age given o'er to sword and llame, 
Woman to infamy; no crime forgot, 

By which inventive daemons might proclaim 
Immortal hate to Man, and scorn of God's great 
name ! 

Til. 

The rudest sentinel, in Britain born, 

With horror paused to view the havoc done, 

Grave his poor crust to feed some wretch forlorn,* 
Wiped his stern eye, then fiercer grasp'd his gun. 

• Even the unexampled gallantry of the British Rrmy in the 
campaign of 1810-11, although they never fought but to conquer, 



THE VISION OF DON RODEHICK. 429 

Nor with less zeal shall Britain's peaceful son 

Exult the debt of s}'mpathy to pay ; 
Riches nor poverty the tax shall shun, 

Nor prince nor peer, the Avealthy nor the gay. 
Nor the poor peasant's mite, nor bard's more worth- 
less lay. 

VIII. 
But thou — ^unfoughten -wilt thou j-ield to Fate, 

Minion of Fortune, now miscall 'd in vain ! 
Can vantage-ground no confidence create, 

Marcella s pass, nor Guarda's mountain chain? 
Vain-glorious Fugitive ? yet turn again ! 

Behold, where, named by some Prophetic Seer, 

Flows Honour's Fountain,* as fore-doom'd the 

stain 

From thy dishonour'd name and arms to clear — 

Fallen Child of Fortune, turn, redeem her favour 

here !f 

IX. 

Yet, ere thou tuni'st, collect each distant aid : 

Those chief that never heard the Lion roar ! 
Within whose souls lives not a ti-ace portray'd, ^ 

Of Talavera, or Mondego's shore ! 
Marshal each band thou hast, and summon more ; 

Of war's fell stratagems exhaust the whole ; 
Bank upon rank, squadron on squadron pour. 

Legion on legion on thy foeman roll. 
And weary out his arm — thou canst not quell his soul, 

X. 

O vainly gleams with steel Agueda's shore. 
Vainly thy squadrons hide Assuava's' plain. 

And front the ilying thunders as they roar. 
With frantic charge and tenfold odds, in vain ! 

And what avails thee that, for Cameron^ilain, 
Wild from liisplaided ranks the yell was given — ijT 

will do them less honour in history than their humanity to thft 
famished Spaniards, whom tl\ey ted as well as defended, even 
when they were themselves reduced to short allowance. 
. * The Uteral translation of Fuentes d'Hcnoro. 

t ^fai^sena, frequently callei the Spoilt child of Victory. 

j The gallant Colonel Cameron was wounded moitaU'y daring 
tikfi desperate ooutest in the streets of the village called Fueatcs 



430 THE VISION OF DON RODEllICK. 

Vengeance and grief gave mountain rage the rein, 
And, at the bloody spear-point headlong driven. 
Thy Despot's 'giant guards lied like tlie rack of 
heaven. 

XI. 

Go, baffled Boaster ! teach thy haughty mood 

To plead at thine imperious master's throne I 
Say, thou hast left his legions in their blood, 

Deceived his hopes, and frustrated thine ownj 
Say, that thine utmost skill and valour shown 

By British skill and valour were outvied; 
Last say, thy conqueror was Wellington ! 

And if he chafe, be his own fortune tried — 
God and our cause to friend, the venture we'll abidCt 

XII. 
But ye, the heroes of that well-fought day, 

How shall a bard, unknowing, and unknovno, 
His meed to each victorious leader pay. 

Or bind on every brow the laurels won ? 
Yet fain my harp would wake its boldest tone, 
O'er the wide sea to hail Cadogan brave ; 
'■ And he, perchance, the minstrel note might own, 

Mindful of meeting brief that Fortune gave 
'Mid yon far western isles, that hear the Atlantio 
rave. 

XIII. 

Yes ! hard the task, when Britons wield the sword, 

To give each Chief and every field its fame : 
Hark ! Albuera thunders Beresford, 

And red Barossa shouts for dauntless Gr^ME! " 
for a verse of tumult and of flame, 

Bold as the bursting of their cannon sound, 
To bid the world re-echo to their fame 1 

For n*er, upon gory battle-ground. 
With conquest's well-bought wreath were braver 
victors crowned ! 

d'Houoro. He fell at the head of his native Highlanders, the 71st 
and 79th, who raised a dreadtnl shriek of grief and rage. They 
Charged, with irresistible fury, the finest body of French g;renar 
diers ever seen, being a part of Buonaparte's selected guard, and 
boie them out of the contested j^round at the poiut of the bayoneti 



THE VISION 01" DOX HOUKUICK. 43 i 



O who shall grudge him Albuera's bays. 

Who brought a race regenerate to the field. 
Roused them to emulate their fathers' praise, 

Tempered their headlong rage, their courage 
steel'd,* 
And raised fair Lusitenia's fallen shield, 

And gave new edge to Lusitania's sword. 
And taught her sons forgotten arms to wield — 

Shivered my harp, and burst its every chord, 
f it forget thy worth, victorious Beresford ! 



Not on that bloody field of battle won. 

Though Graul's proud legions roll'd like mist 
away. 
Was half his self-devoted valour shown, — 
He gaged but life on that illustrious day ; 
But when he toil'd those squadrons to array. 

Who fought like Britons in the bloody game, 
Sharper than Polish pike or assagay, 

He braved the shafts of censure and of shame, 
And, dearer far than life, he pledged a soldier's 
fame. 



Nor be his praise o'erpass'd who strove to hide 

Beneath the warrior's vest affection's wound, 
Whose wish. Heaven for his country's weal denied; 

Danger and fate he sought, but glory found. 
From clime to clime, where'er war's trumpets 
sound. 

The wanderer went ; yet, Caledonia ! still 
Thine was his thought in march and tented ground : 

He dreamed 'mid Alpine cliffs of Athole's hill. 
And heard in Ebro's roar his Lyndoch's lovely rilL 



* Field- Marshal Beresford, was contented to undertake all tho 
hazard of obloquy which might have been founded upon any mis- 
carriag;e in the highly important experiment of training the Por- 
tuguese troops to an improved state of discipline. His generooa 
devoledness was amply rewarded by the conduct and. valour of 
the soldiers during the whole course of the H-ar. 



432 THE VISION OP DON RODERICK. 

XVII. 

O hero of a race reuown'd of old, 

Whose war-cry oft has waked the battle-swell,* 
Since first distinguished in the onset bold, 

Wild sounding when the Roman rampart fell ! 
By Wallace' side it rung the Southron's knell, 

Aldeme, Kilsythe, and Tibber oA\Ti'd its fame, 
Tummell's rude pass can of ils terrors tell, 

But ne'er from prouder field arose the name, 
Than when wild Ronda learn'd the conquering 
shout of Grjeme ! 



But all too long, through seas unknown and dark, 

(With Spenser's parable I close my tale) 
By shoal and rock hath steer d my venturous bark ; 

And land- ward now I drive before the gale, 
And now the blue and distant shore I hail, 

And nearer now I see the port expand, 
And now I gladly furl my weary sail, 

And, as the prow light touches on the strand, 
I strike my red-cross flag, and bind my skiff to land, 

» This stanza allodes to the various achievements of the warlilio 
family of Graeme, or Grahame. They are said, to have desceuded 
from the Scottish chief, under ■jvhose command his countrvmen 
•termed the wall huilt by the Emperor Sevgrus. (sir John the 
Grahame, •' the hardy wight and wise," is well knowii as the friend 
of Sir William Wallace. Aldeme, Kjlsyth, and Tibbermiijr, were 
scenes of the victories of the heroic Marquis of Montrose- The 
pass of Killy-crankie is famous for the action between King Wil^ 
liain's forces and the Highlanders in 1689. 

" Where gUul Dundee in faint hiuaae txfixeiJ* 



E O K E B Y 

IK SIX CANTO& 



TO 

JOHN R. S. MORRITT, Esq. 
THIS POEM, 

THE SCENE OF WHICH IS LAID IN HIS BEAUTIFUl 
DEMESNE OF ROKEBS", 

IS INSCBIBED, 

IN TOKEN OF SINCERE FRIENDSHIP, 

BY 

WALTER SCOIT 
Dee. 31, 1812. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



The scene of this poem is laid at Rokeby, near 
Greta Bridere. in Yorkshire, and shifts to the adjacent 
fortress of Barnard Castle, and to other places in that 
vicinity. 

The time occupied by the action is a space ol live 
days, three of which are supposed to elapse between 
the end of the Fifth and beginning of the Sixtli Canto. 

The date of tl^e supposed events is immediately 
subsequent to the great battle of Marston Moor, 3d 
July, 1644. This period of pubhc confusion has been 
chosen, without any puipose of combining the Fable 
with the Military or Political Events of the Civil War, 
but only as affording a degree of probability to the 
fictitious narrative now presented to the Public 



ROKEBY. 



CANTO FIRST. 



Thb Mooa is in her summer glow, 
But hoarse and high the breezes blow. 
And, racking o'er her face, the cloud 
Varies the tincture of her shroud ; 
On Barnard's towers, and Tees's stream. 
She changes as a guilty dream, 
When Conscience, \nth remorse and fear. 
Goads sleeping Fancy's wild career. 
Her light seems now the blush of shame, 
Seems now fierce anger's darker flame. 
Shifting that shade, to come and go, 
Like apprehension's hurried glow ; 
Then sorrow's livery dims the air, 
And dies in darkness, like despair. 
Such varied hues the warder sees 
Reflected from the woodland Tees, 
Then from old Baliol's tower looks forth. 
Sees the clouds mustering in the north. 
Hears, upon turret-roof and wall, 
By fits the plashing raia-drop fall. 
Lists to the breeze's boding sound, 
And wraps his shaggy mantle round, 

- * The onco magnificent fortress of Barnard Castle derirea ito 
naijie from its founder. Barnard Baliol, the ancestor of the short 
niid unforltmate dynasty of that name, which succeeded to the 
Scottish throne under the patronage of Kdward I. and Edward 
III. Baliol's Tower, afterwards mentioned in the poem, is a round 
tower of great size, situated at the western extremity of the build- 
ing. The prospt^.t from the top of the Tower commands a nch and 
iwa g nifi ceat view oi the wooded vallay of the Tees. 



486 ROKEBT. 

II. 

Those towers, which in the changeful gleam 
Throw murky shadows on the stream. 
Those towers of Barnard hold a guest, 
The emotions of whose troubl'd breast, 
In wild and strange confusion driven, 
Rival the flitting rack of heaven. 
Ere sleep stern Oswald's senses tied, 
Oft had he chang'd his weary side, 
Compos'd his limbs and vainly sought 
By effort strong to banish thought. 
Sleep came at length, but with a train 
Of feelings true and fancies vain. 
Mingling, in wild disorder cast. 
The expected future with the past. 
Conscience, anticipating time. 
Already rues the enacted crime. 
And calls her furies forth, to shaio 
The sounding scourge and hissing snake; 
While her pot)r victim's outward throes 
Bear witness to his mental woes, 
And show what lesson may be read 
Beside a sinner's restless bed. 

III. 
Thus Oswald's labouring feelings trace 
Strange changes in his sleeping face. 
Rapid and ominous as these 
With which the moonbeams tinge the Tees. 
There might be seen of shame the blush, 
There anger's dark and fiercer flush. 
While the perturbed sleeper's hand 
Seem'd grasping dagger-knife, or brand, 
Relax'd that grasp, the hea\7 sigh. 
The tear in the half-opening eye, 
The 2)allid cheek and brow confess'd 
That grief was busy in his breast ; 
Nor paus'd that mood — a sudden start 
Impell'd the life-blood from the heart : 
Features convods'd, and mutterings dread. 
Show terror reigns in sorrow's stead. 
That pang the painful slumber broke, 
And Oswald with a start awoke. 



[CANTO I 



CANTO I.] ROKEBY 437 

IV. 

He woke, and fear'd again to close 
His eyelids in such dire repose ; 
He vcoke, — to watch the lamp, and tell 
From hour to hour the castle-bell. 
Or listen to the owlet's cry, 
Or the sad breeze that whistles by, 
Or catch, by fits, the tuneless rhyme 
With which the warder cheats the time. 
And en\'ying think, how, when the sun 
Bids the poor soldier's watch be done, 
Couch'd on his straw, and fancy-free, 
He sleeps like careless infancy. 
V. 

Far town- ward sounds a distant tread. 
And Oswald, starting from his bed. 
Hath caught it, though no human ear, 
Unsharpen'd by revenge and fear, 
Could e'er distinguish horse's clank, 
Until it reach 'd the castle bank. 
Now nigh and plain the sound appears, 
The warder's challenge now he hears, 
Then clanking chains and levers tell. 
That o'er the moat the drawbridge fell. 
And, in the castle court below, 
Voices are heard, and torches glow, 
As marshalling the stranger's way. 
Straight for the room where Oswald lay 
The cry was, — " Tidings from the host. 
Of weight — a messenger comes post." 
Stifling the tumult of his breast. 
His answer Oswald thus expressed — 
"• Bring food and wine, and trim the fire ; 
Admit the stranger, and retire." 

VI. 
The stranger came with heavy stride, 
The morion's plumes his visage hide, 
And the buff-coat, an ample lold, 
Mantles his form's gigantic mould.* 

« ITie use of complete suits of annour was fallen into dlsnaa 
during the Civil War, though they were still worn by leaden of 
rank and importance- Bun-coats continued to be worn by the 
city trained-bands till near the middle of the last century. 



438 ROKEBT. [CAKlOl 

Full slender answer deigned he 

To Oswald's anxious courtesy. 

But mark'd, by a disdainful smile, 

lie saw and scorn'd the petty wile, 

When Oswald chang'd the torch's place, 

Anxious that on the soldier's face 

Its partial lustre might be thrown, 

To show his looks, yet hide his own. 

His guest, the while, laid low aside 

The ponderous cloak of tough bull's hide. 

And to the torch glanc'd broad and cleatf 

The corslet of a cuirassier ; 

Then from his brows the casque he drew, 

And from the dank plume dash'd the dew. 

From gloves of mail reliev'd his hands, 

And spread them to the kindling brands. 

And, turning to the genial board, 

Without a health, or pledge, or word 

Of meet and social reverence said, 

Deeply he drank, and fiercely fed ; 

As free from ceremony's sway, 

As famish'd wolf that tears his prey. 



With deep impatience, tinged with fear, 
His host beheld him gorge his cheer, 
And quaff the full carouse, that lent 
His brow a fiercer hardiment. 
Now Oswald stood a space aside, 
Now pac'd the room with hasty stride. 
In feverish agony to learn 
Tidings of deep and dread concern. 
Cursing each moment that his guest 
Protracted o'er his ruflSan feast. 
Yet viewing with alarm, at last. 
The end of that uncouth repast, 
Almost he seem'd their haste to rue, 
As, at his sign, his train withdrew. 
And left him with the stranger, free 
To question of his mystery. 
Then did his silence long proclaim 
A struggle between fear and shame. 



CANTO 1.3 ROKEBV. 439 



Much in the stranger's mien appears, 
To justify suspicious fears. 
On his dark face a scorching clime, 
And toil, had done the work of time, 
Roughen 'd the brow, the temples bar'd, 
And sable hairs with silver shar'd. 
Yet left — what age alone could tam©^ 
The lip of pride, the eye of flame ; 
The full-drawn iip that upward curl'd. 
The eye, that seem'd to scorn the world. 
That lip had terror never blench'd ; 
Ne'er in tiiat eye hath tear-drop quench*d 
The flash severe of swarthy glow, 
That mock'd at pain, and knew not woe. 
Inur'd to danger's direst form, 
Tornade and earthquake, flood and storm, 
Death had he seen by sudden blow. 
By wasting plague, by tortures slow,* 
By mine or breach, by steel or ball. 
Knew all his shapes, and scom'd them all. 
IX. 

But yet, though Bertram's harden'd look 
Unmov'd could blood and danger brook, 
Still worse than apathy had place 
On his swart brow and callous face ; 
For evil passions, cherish'd long. 
Had plough'd them with impression strong. 
All that gives gloss to sin, all gay • 

Light folly, past with youth away, 
But rooted stood, in manhood's hour. 
The weeds of vice without their flower. 
And yet the soil in which they grew. 
Had it been tam'd when life was new, 
Had depth and vigour to bring forth 
The hardier fruits of virtuous worth. 

* The successes of the English in the predatory incursions upon 
Spanish America, during the reign of Elizabeth, had never been 
forgotten; and, from that period downward, the exploits of Drake 
and Raleigh were imitated, upon a smaller scale indeed, but with 
•qually desperate valour, by small bands of pirates, gathered from 
all nations, but chiefly French and English. The character of 
Bertram is copied from those qualities by which the bucaniers 
weregenerally distinguished. 



440 ROKEBY. CCANTO : 

Not that, e'en then, his heart had kno'wn 
The gentler feelings' kindly tone ; 
But lavish waste had heen refm'd 
To bounty in his chasten'd mind. 
And lust of gold, that waste to feed. 
Been lost in love of glory's meed. 
And, frantic then no more, his pride 
Had taen fair virtue for its guide. 



Even now, by conscience unrestrain'd, 
Clogg'd by gross vice, by slaughter stain'd, 
Still knew his daring soul to soar, 
And mastery o'er the mind he bore ; 
For meaner guilt, or heart less hard, 
Quail'd beneath Bertram's bold regard. 
And this felt Oswald, while in vain 
He strove, by many a winding train. 
To lure his sullen guest to show, 
Unask'd, the news he long'd to know, 
While on far other subject hung 
His heart, than falter'd from his tongue. 
Yet nought for that his guest did deign 
To note or spare his secret pain, 
But still, in stem and stubborn sort, 
Returu'd him answer dark and short, 
Or staited from the theme, to range 
In loose digression wild and strange. 
And forc'd the embarrass'd host to buy, 
By query close, direct reply. 



A while he gloz'd upon the cause 

Of Commons, Covenant, and Laws, - • 

And Church Reform'd — but felt rebu 

Beneath grim Bertram's sneering look. 

Then stammer'd — " Has a field been fought? 

Has Bertram news of battle brought ? 

For sure a soldier, famed so far 

[e foreign fields for feats of war. 

On eve of fight ne'er left the host, 

Until the field were won and lost." 



CANTO I.] ROEEBT. 

*' Here, iii your towers by circling Tees, 

You, Oswald AVycliffe, rest at ease ; 

Why deem it strange that others come 

To share such safe and easy home, 

From fields where danger, death and toil, 

Are the reward of civil broil?" — 

" Nay, mocl-- not, friend ! since well we know 

The near advances of the foe, 

io mar our northern army's work, 

Encamp'd before beleaguer'd York ; 

Thy horse with valiant Fairfax lay. 

And must have fought — ^how went the day?*'-^ 

XII. 

" Wouldst hear the tale? — On Marston heath 
Met, front to front, the ranks of death ; 
Flourish'd the trumpets fierce, and novr 
Fir'd was each eye, and Hush'd each brow; 
On either side loud clamours ring, 
' God and the Cause f — ' God and the King I* 
Right English all, they rash'd to blows, 
With nought to win, and all to lose. 
I could have laugh' d — but lack'd the time — 
To see, in phrenesy sublime. 
How the fierce zealots fought and bled, 
For king or state, as humour led ; 
Some for a dream of public good. 
Some for church-tippet, gown aird hood, 
Draining their veins, in death to claim 
A patriot's or a martyr's name — 
Led Bertram Risingham the hearts, 
That counter'd there on adverse parts. 
No superstitious fool had I 
Sought El Dorados in the sky ! 
Chili had heard me through her states, 
And Lima op'd her silver gates, 
Rich Mexico I had march' d through. 
And sack'd the splendours of Peru, 
Till svmk Pizarro's daring name, 
And, Cortez, thine, in Bertram's fame."—' 
" Still from the purpose wilt thou stray ! 
Good gentle friend, how went the day?** 
x2 



442 ROKEBY. [CAMTO 1, 



" Good am I deem'd at trumpet-sound, 

And good ■where goblets dance the round. 

Though gentle ne'er was join'd, till now, 

With rugged Bertram's breast and brow.- 

But I resume. The battle's rage 

AVas like the strife which currents wage 

Where Orinoco, in his pride, 

Rolls to the main no tnbute tide, 

But 'gainst broad ocean urges far 

A rival sea of roaring war ; 

While, in ten thousand eddies driven. 

The billows fling their foam to heaven, 

And the pale pilot seeks in vain, 

Where rolls the river, where the main. 

Even thus upon the bloody field. 

The eddying tides of conflict wheel'd 

Ambiguous, till that heart of flame, 

Hot Rupert, on our squadrons came, 

Hurling against our spears a line 

Of gallants, fiery as their wine ; 

Then ours, though stubborn in their zeal. 

In zeal's despite began to reel. 

What wouldst thou more ? — in tumult tost. 

Our leaders fell, our ranks were lost. 

A thousand men, who drew the sword 

For both the Houses and the Word, 

Preach'd forth from hamlet, grange, and down, 

To curb the crosier and the crown, 

Now, stark and stiS', lie stretch 'd in gore, 

And ne'er shall rail at mitre more. — 

Thus far'd it, when I left the fight, 

With the good Cause and Commons' rigW— 



" Disastrous news !" dark Wycliffe said ; 
Assum'd despondence bent his head. 
While troubl d joy was in his eye. 
The well-feign'd sorrow to belie. — • 
" Disastrous news ! — when needed most, 
Told ye not that your chiefs were lost? 



ca:>to i] rokeby. 

Complete the woful tale, and say, 

Who fell upon that fatal day ; 

What leaders of repute and name 

Bought by their death a deathless fame. 

If such my direst foeman's doom, 

My tears shall dew his honour'd tomb. — 

No answer? — Friend, of all our host. 

Thou knov/'st whom I should hate the most, 

Whom thou too, once, were wont to hate, 

Yet leav'st me doubtful of his fate.' — 

With look unmov'd, — "■ Of friend or foe, 

Aught," answer'd Bertram, " wouldst thou know. 

Demand in simple terms and plain, 

A soldier's answer shalt thou gain ; 

Foi question dark, or riddle high, 

I have nor judgment nor reply," 



The yrrvAh his art and fear suppress'd, 
Now blaz'd at once in Wyclitfe's breast ; 
And brave, from man so meanly born, 
Rous'd his hereditary scorn. 
" Wretch ! hast thou paid thy bloody debt ? 
Philip of Mortham, lives he yet ? 
Falae to thy patron or thine oath, 
Trait'rous or perjur'd, one or both. 
Slave ! hast thou kept thy promise 'plight, 
To slay thy leader in the fight ?"" 
Then from his seat the soldier sprung. 
And Wycliffe's hand he strongly wrung ; 
His grasp, as hard as glove of mail, 
Forc'd the red blood-drop from the nail — 
" A health !" he cried ; and, ere he quaft'd, 
Flung from him Wycliffe's hand, and laugh'd .: 
— ''• Now, Oswald Wycliffe, speaks thy heart ! 
Now play'st thou well thy genuine part ! 
Worthy, but for thy craven fear, 
Like me to roam a bucanier. 
What reck'st thou of the Cause divine. 
If Mortham's wealth and lands be thine? 
What car'st thou for beleaguer'd York, 
If this good hand have done its work ? 



443 



444 BOKEBY. 

Or what though Fairfax and his best 
Ai'e reddening Marston's swarthy breast, 
If Philip Mortham with them lie, 
Lending his life-blood to the dye ? — 
Sit, then ! and as mid comrades free 
Carousing after victory. 
When tales are told of blood and fear. 
That boys and women shrink to hear, 
From point to point I frankly tell 
The deed of death as it befell. 

XVI. 
" When purpos'd vengeance I forego, 
Term me a wretch, nor deem me foe ; 
And when an insult I forgive, 
Then brand me as a slave, and live ! — 
Philip of Mortham is with those 
Whom Bertram Risingham calls foes ; 
Or whom more sure revenge attends. 
If number' d with ungrateful friends. 
As was his wont, ere battle glow'd, 
Along the marshall'd ranks he rode, 
And wore his visor up the while. 
I saw his melancholy smile. 
When, full opposed in front, he knew 
Where Rokeby's kindred banner flew. 
' And thus,' he said, ' will friends divide !' — • 
I heard, and thought how, side by side, 
We two had turn'd the battle's tide. 
In many a well-debated field. 
Where Bertram's breast was Philip's shiddL 
I thought on Darien's deserts pale. 
Where death bestrides the evening gale. 
How o'er my friend my cloak I threw. 
And fenceless fac'd the deadly dew ; 
I thought on Quariana's cliff, 
Where, rescu'd from our foundering skif^ 
Through the white breakers' -wrath I bore 
Exhausted Mortham to the shore ; 
And when his side an arrow found, 
I suck'd the Indian's venom'd wound. 
These thoughts like torrents rush'd along, 
To sweep away my purpose strong. 



CCANTO t 



CANTO L] 



" Hearts are not flint, and flints are rent ; 

Hearts are not steel, and steel is bent. 

When Mortham bade me, as of yore, 

Be near him in the battle's roar, 

I scarcely saw the spears laid low, 

I scarcely heard the trumpets blow ; 

Lost was the war in inward strife, 

Debating Mortham's death or life. 

'Twas then, I thought, how, lur'd to come, 

As partner of his wealth and home, 

Years of piratic wand' ring o'er. 

With him I sought our native shore. 

But Mortham's lord grew far estrang'd 

From the bold heart with whom he rang'd ; 

Doubts, horrors, superstitious fears, 

Sadden'd and dimm'd descending years ; 

The wily priests their victim sought. 

And damn'd each free-born deed and thought. 

Then must I seek another home, 

My license shook his sober dome ; 

If gold he gave, in one wild day 

I revell'd thrice the simi away. 

An idle outcast then I stray'd, 

Unfit for tillage or for trade. 

Deem'd, like the steel of rusted lance, 

Useless and dangerous at once. 

The women fear'd my hardy look, 

At my approach the peaceful shook ; 

The merchant saw my glance of flame, 

And lock'd his hoards when Bertram camc ? 

Each child of coward peace kept fai" 

From the neglected son of war. 

XVIII. 
" But civil discord gave the call, 
And made my trade the trade of alL 
By Mortham urg'd, I came again 
His vassals to the fight to train. 
What guerdon waited on my care ? 
I could not cant of creed or prayer ; 
Sour fanatics each trust obtain'd, 
And I, dishonour'd and disdain'd. 



445 



446 ' ROKEBY. CCANTO I 

Gain'd but tLe high and happy lot, 
In these poor arms to front the shot ! — 
All this thou know'st, thy gestures tell ; 
Yet hear it o'er, and mark it well. 
'Tis honour bids me now relate 
Each circumstance of Mortham's fate. 



" Thoughts, from the tongue that slowly part, 
Glance quick as lightning through the heart. 
As my spur press' d my courser's side, 
Philip of Mortham's cause was tried, 
And, ere the charging squadrons mix'd, 
His plea was cast, his doom was fix'd. 
I watch' d him through the doubtful fray, 
That chang'd as March's moody day, 
Till, like a stream that bursts its bank, 
Fierce Rupert thunder'd on our flank. 
'Twas then, midst tumult, smoke, and strife, 
Wherd each man fought for death or life, 
'Twas then I fir'd my petronel, 
And Mortham, steed and rider, fell. 
One dying look he upward cast, 
Of wrath and anguish — "twas his last. 
Think not that there I stopp'd to view 
What of the battle should ensue ; 
But ere I clear'd that bloody press, 
Our northern horse ran masterless ; 
Monckton and Mitton told the news,* 
How troops of roundheads chok'd the Ouse, 
And many a bonny Scot, aghast. 
Spurring his palfrey northward, past. 
Cursing the day when zeal or meed 
First lur'd their Lesley o'er the Tweed. 
Yet when I reach'd the banks of Swale, 
Had rumour leam'd another tale ; 
With his barb'd horse, fresh tidings say. 
Stout Cromwell has redeem'd the day ;+ 
But whether false the news, or true, 
Oswald, I reck as light as yon." 

* Monckton and Mitton are villages near the river Oase, unit 
uot very distant from tUe field of battle. 

t Cromwell, with hU regiment of cuirassiers, had a princili&i 
share in turning the fate of the day at Marstoa Moor. 



CANTO L] 



ROKEBY. 447 



yy. 



Not then by Wycliffe might be shown, 
How his pride startled at the tone 
In which his complice, fierce and free, 
Asserted guilt's equality. 
In smoothest terms his speech he wove, 
Of endless friendship, faith, and love ; 
Promis'd and vow'd in courteous sort. 
But Bertram broke professions short. 
" Wycliffe, be sure not here I stay. 
No, scarcely till the rising day ; 
Warn'd by the legends of my youth, 
I trust not an associate's truth. 
Do not my native dales prolong 
Of Percy Kede the tragic song, 
Train 'd fonvard to his bloody fall. 
By Girsonfield, that treach'rous Hall?* 
Oft, by the Pringle's haunted side. 
The shepherd sees his spectre glide. 
And near the spot that gave me name, 
The moated mound of Risinghara,"!* 
Where Reed upon her rnargin sees 
Sweet Woodburne's cottages and trees. 
Some ancient sculptor's ai-t has shown 
An outlaw's image on the stoue ; 
Unmatch'd in strength, a giant he, 
With quiver'd back, and kirtled knee. 
Ask how he died, that hunter bold. 
The tameless monarch of the wold, 



* According to the border legend, Percival Eeed, Esquire, a 
keeper of Keedsdale, was betrayed by the Halls (hence denomi- 
nated the false-hearted Ha's) to a band of moss-troopers of the 
name of Crosier, who slew him at Batinghope, neaur the source of 
the Reed. The ghost of the murdered borderer was supposed to 
hamit the banks of a brook called the Pringle. 

t Risingham, upon the river Reed, near the beautiful hamlet of 
Woodburn, is an ancient Roman station, formerly called Habitan- 
cum. About half a mile distant from Risingham, upon ax\ emi- 
nence covered with scattered birch-trees and fragments of rock, 
there is cut upon a large rock, in alio relieoo, a remarkable figure, 
called Robin of Risingham, or Robin of Reedsdale. The popular 
tradition is, that it represents a giant, whose brother resided at 
"Woodburn, and he himself at Risingham. It adds, that they sul/- 
■isted by hunting, and that one of them, fiudintf the ganje become 
too scarce to support them, poisoned his companion, to whose mem- 
ory the monument was en^avcd. 



448 BOKEBY. CCANTO X 

And age and infancy can tell. 
By brother's treachery he fell. 
Thus wani'd by legends of my youth, 
I trust to no associate's truth. 

XXI. 

*' When last we reasoned of this deed. 
Nought, I bethink me, was agreed, 
Or by what rule, or wlaen, or where, 
The wealth of Mortham we should share ; 
Then list, while I the portion name. 
Our difl'ering laws give each to claim. 
Thou, vassal sworn to England's throne. 
Her rules of heritage must own ; 
They deal thee, as to nearest heir, 
Thy kinsman's lands and livings feir, 
And these I yield : — do thou revere 
The statutes of the Bucanier.* 
Friend to the sea, and foeman sworn 
To all that on her waves are home, 
When falls a mate in battle broil. 
His comrade heirs his portion'd spoil ; 
When dies in fight a daring foe, 
He claims his wealth who struck the blow; 
And either rule to me assigns 
Those spoils of Indian seas and mines, 
Hoarded in Mortham's cavenis dark ; 
Ingot of gold and diamond spark. 
Chalice and plate from churches borne. 
And gems from shrieking beauty torn, 
Each string of pearl, each silver bar, 
And all the wealth of western war. 
I go to search, where, dark and deep, 
Those Trans-atlantic treasures sleep. 



* The "statutes of the Buoaniers" were, in reality, more eqqfc 
table than could have been expected. When the expedition was 
completed, the fund of prize-money acquired was thro^vn together, 
and the oivners of the vessel had then their sliare assigned for the 
expenses of the outfit. The surgeon's and carpenter's salaries, 
with the price of provisions and ammunition, were also defrayed. 
Then followed the compensation due to the maimed and wounded, 
rated according to the damage they had sustained. After this act 
of justice and humanity, the remainder of the booty was divided 
iuto as many sbEireB as there were Bacasiers. 



CANTO I.] ROKKBY. 

Thou must along — for, lacking thee, 
The heir -will scarce find entrance free ; 
And then farewell. I haste to try 
Each varied pleasure "wealth can buy ; 
When cloy'd each wish, these wars afford 
Fresh work for Bertram's restless sword." 

XXII. 
An undecided answer hung 
On Oswald's hesitating tongue. 
Despite his craft, he heard with aw© 
This ruffian stabber fix the law ; 
While his own troubled passions veer 
Through hatred, joy, regret, and fear : — 
Joy'd at the soul that Bertram Hies, 
He grudg'd the murderer's mighty prizft, 
Hated his pride's presumptuous tone. 
And fear'd to wend with him alone. 
At length, that middle course to steer, 
To cowardice and craft so dear, 
" His charge," he said, " would ill allow 
His absence from the fortress now ; 
Wilfrid on Bertram should attend, 
His son should journey with his friend." 

XXIII. 
Contempt kept Bertram's anger do\\Tn, 
And wreath'd to savage smile his frown. 
" Wilfrid, or thou — 'tis one to me, 
Whichever bears the golden key. 
Yet think not but I mark, and smile 
To mark, thy poor and selfish wile ! 
If injury from me you fear. 
What, Oswald Wycliffe, shields thee here? 
I've sprung from walls more high than these, 
I've swam through deeper streams than Tees, 
Might I not stab thee ere one yell 
Could rouse the distant sentinel.^ 
Start not — it is not my design. 
But, if it were, weak fence were thine ; 
And, trust me, that, in time of need, 
This hand hath done more desp'rate deed. 
Go, haste and rouse thy slumb'ring son; 
Time calls, and I must needs be gone.'' 



449 



450 ROKEBT. [CANTO U 

XXIV. 

Nought of his sire's ungenerous part 
Polluted Wilfrid's gentle heart ; 
A heart too soft from early life 
To hold with fortune needful strife. 
His sire, while yet a hardier race 
Of num'rous sons were Wycliffe's grace. 
On Wilfrid set contemptuous brand, 
For feeble heart and forceless hand ; 
But a fond mother's care and joy 
Were centred in her sickly boy. 
No touch of childhood's frolic mood 
Show'd the elastic spring of blood ; 
Hour after hour he lov'd to pore 
On Shakspeare's rich and varied lore. 
But turn'd from martial scenes and light, 
From Falstaff's feast and Percy's fight, 
To ponder Jacques' moral strain. 
And muse with Hamlet, wise in vain; 
And weep himself to soft repose 
O'er gentle Desdemona's woes. 



In youth he sought not pleasures found 
By youth in horse, and hawk, and hound. 
But loved the quiet joys that wake 
By lonely stream and silent lake ; 
In Deepdale's solitude to lie. 
Where all is cliff and copse and sky ; 
To climb Catcastle's dizzy peak. 
Or lone Pendragon's mound to seek. 
Such was he wont ; and there his dream 
Soar'd on some wild fantastic theme, 
Of faithful love, or ceaseless spring, 
Till Contemplation's wearied wing 
The enthusiast could no more sustain. 
And sad he sunk to eai"th again. 

XXVI. 

He lov'd — ^as many a lay can tell; 
Preserv'd in Stanmore's lonely deU. 
For his was minstrel's skill, he caught 
The art imteachable, untaught ; 



CANTO I.] ROKEBY. 

He lov'd— his soul did nature frame 
For love, and fancy nurs'd the fljune ; 
Vainly he lov'd — for seldom swain 
Of such soft mould is lov'd again; 
Silent he lov d— in every gaze 
Was passion, friendship in his phrase. 
So mus'd his life away — till died_ 
His brethren all, their father's pride. 
Wilfrid is now the only heir 
Of all his stratagems and care, 
And destin'd, darkling, to pursue 
Ambition's maze by Oswald's clue. 

XXVII, 

Wilfrid must love and woo the bright 
Matilda, heir of Rokeby's knight. 
To love her was an easy best. 
The secret empress of his breast ; 
To woo her was a harder task 
To one that durst not hope or ask. 
Yet all Matilda could, she gave 
In pity to her gentle slave ; 
Friendship, esteem, and fair regard, 
And praise, the poet's best reward ! 
She read the tales his taste approv'd, 
And sung the lays he fram'd or lov'd ; 
Yet, loath to nurse the fatal flame 
Of hopeless love in friendships name, 
In kind caprice she oft withdrew 
The fa v' ring glance to friendship due, 
Then griev'd to see her victim's pain. 
And gave the dang'rous smiles again. 

XXVIII. 

So did the suit of Wilfrid stand. 
When war's loud summons wak'd the land. 
Three banners, floating o'er the Tees, 
The wo-forebodiug peasant sees ; 
In concert oft they brav'd of old 
The bordering Scot's incursion bold : 
Frowning defiance in their pride. 
Their vassals now and lords divide. 



451 



45'i ROK£BT. [CAWTO t 

From his fair hall on Greta hanks, 
The Knight of Rokeby led his ranks, 
To aid the valiant northern Earls, 
Who drew the sword for royal Charles. 
Mortham, by marriage near allied, — . 
His sister had been Kokeby's bride. 
Though long before the civil fray. 
In peaceful grave the lady lay. — 
Philip of Mortham rais'd his band, 
And march'd at Fairfax's command ; 
While Wyclifl'e, bound by many a train 
Of kindred art with wily Vane, 
Less prompt to brave the bloody field, 
Made Barnard's battlements his shield, 
Secur'd them with the Lunedale powers. 
And for the Commons held the towers. 



The lovely heir of Rokeby's Knight 
Waits in his halls the event of tight ; 
For England's war rever'd the claim 
Of every unprotected name. 
And spar'd, amid its fiercest rage. 
Childhood and womanhood and age. 
But Wilfrid, son to Rokeby's foe, 
Must the dear privilege forego, 
By Greta's side, in evening grey, 
To steal upon Matilda's way. 
Striving, with fond hypocrisy, 
For careless step and vacant eye ; 
Calming each anxious look and glance, 
To give the meeting all to chance, 
Or framing as a fair excuse. 
The book, the pencil, or the muse ; 
Something to give, to sing, to say. 
Some modem tale, some ancient lay. 
Then, while the long'd-for minutes last,— 
Ah 1 minutes quickly over-past ! — 
Recording each expression free, 
Of kind or careless courtesy, 
4iach friendly look, each softer tone, 
As food for fancy when alone. 



CAMTO L] ROKEBY. 

All this is o'er— but still, unseen, 
Wilfrid may lurk in Eastwood green, 
To watch Matilda's wonted round. 
While springs his heart at every sound. 
She comes !— 'tis but a passing sight, 
Yet serves to cheat his weary night ; 
She comes not — He will wait the hour. 
When her lamp lightens in the tow'r ; 
'Tis something yet, if, as she past, 
Her shade is o'er the lattice cast. 
" What is my life, my hope ?" he said ; 
" Alas ! a transitory shade." 

XXX. 

Thus wore his life, though reason strove 
For mastery in vain with love. 
Forcing upon his thoughts the sum 
Of present woe and ills to come. 
While still he turn d impatient ear 
From Truth's intrusive voice severe. 
Gentle, indiff'rent, and subdued,^ 
In all but this, unmov d he view'd 
Each outward change of ill and good : 
But Wilfrid, docile, soft, and mild, 
AVas Fancy's spoiFd and wajnvard child ; 
In her bright car she bade him ride. 
With one fair form to grace his side, 
Or, in some wild and lone retreat. 
Flung her high spells around his seat, 
Bath'd in her dews his languid head, 
Her fairy mantle o'er him spread, 
For him her opiates gave to flow, 
Which he who tastes, can ne'er forego. 
And plac' d him in her circle, free 
From eveiy stern reality. 
Till, to the Visionary, seem 
Her day-dreams truth, and truth a dream. 



Woe to the youth, whom Fancy gains. 
Winning from Reason's hand the reina, 
Pity and woe ! for such a mind 
Is soft contemplative, and kind : 



453 



454 ROKEBT. CCANTO L 

And woe to those who train such youth, 
And spare to press the rights of truth, 
The mind to strengthen and anneal, 
While on the stithy glows the steel ! 
O teach him, whil« your lessons last 
To judge the present by the past ; 
Remind him of each wish pursued. 
How rich it glowd with promis'd goodt 
Remind him of each wish enjoy'd. 
How soon his hopes possession cloy'd I 
Tell him, we play unequal game, 
Whene'er we shoot by Fancy's aim ! 
And, ere he strip him for her race, 
Show the conditions of the chase. 
Two sisters by the goal are set. 
Cold Disappointment and Regret ; 
One disenchants the winner's eyes. 
And strips of all its worth the prize. 
While one augments its gaudy show 
More to enhance the loaei's woe. 
The victor sees his fairy gold. 
Transformed, when won, to drossy mould, 
But still the vanquish'd mourns his loss, 
And rues, as gold, that glittering dross. 

XXXII. 

More wouldst thou know — yon tower survey, 
Yon couch unpress'd since parting day. 
Yon untrimm'd lamp, whose yellow gleam. 
Is mingling with the cold moonbeam. 
And yon thin form ! — the hectic red 
On his pale cheek unequal spread ; 
The head reclin'd, the loosen'd hair, 
The limbs relax'd, the mournful air.— 
See, he looks up ; — a woful smile 
Lightens his wo- worn cheek a while,— 
'Tis fancy wajies some idle thought. 
To gild the ruin she has wrought ; 
For, like the bat of Indian brakes. 
Her pinions fan the wound she makes, 
And soothing thus the dreamer's pain. 
She drinks his life-blood from the vein. 



CANTO 1.3 ROKEBT. 

Now to the lattice turn his eyes, 
A''ain hope ! to see the sun arise. 
The moon with clouds is still o'ercast , 
Still howls by fits the stormy blast; 
Another hour must wear away, 
Ere the East kindle into day ; 
And hark ! to waste that weary hour, 
He tries the minstrel's magic power. 

XXXIII. 

SONG. 
To Thk Moon. 

Hail to thy cold and clouded beam, 

Pale pilgrim of the troubled sky ! 
Hail, though the mists that o'er thee streans 

Lend to thy brow their sullen dye ! 
How should thy pure and peaceful eye 

Untroubled view our scenes below. 
Or how a tearless beam supply 

To light a world of war and wo ! 

Fair Queen ! I vnll not blame thee now. 

As once by Greta's fairy side ; 
Each little cloud that dimm'd thy brow 

Did then an angel's beautj^ hide. 
And of the shades I then could chide, 

Still are the thoughts to mem'ry dear. 
For, while a softer strain I tried, 

They hid my blush, and calm'd my feaf. 

Then did I swear thy ray serene 

Was form'd to light some lonely dell, 
By two fond lovers only seen. 

Reflected from the crystal well, 
Or sleeping on their mossy cell, 

Or quivering on the lattice bright, 
Or glancing on their couch, to tell 

•How swiftly wanes the summer night t 

XXXIV. 

He starts— a step at this lone hour ! 
A voioe ! — ^his father seeks the tow'i, 



4Aa 



456 llOKEBY, 

With taggard look and troubled sense, 

Fresh from his dreadful couference. 

" Wilfrid ! — what, not to sleep address 'd? 

Thou hast no cares to chase thy rest. 

Mortham has fall'n on Marston-moor ; 

Bertram brings warrant to secure 

His treasures, bought by spoil and blood, 

For the state's use and public good. 

The menials will thy voice obey; 

Let his commission have its way, 

In every point, in every word." — 

Then, in a whisper, — " Take thy sword J 

Bertram is — what I must not tell, 

I hear his hasty step — farewell !" 



t CANTO n. 



CANTO SECOND. 



Far in the chambers of the west, 
The gale had sigh'd itself to rest ; 
The moon was cloudless now and clear, 
But pale, and soon to disappear. 
The thin grey clouds wax dimly light 
On Brusleton and Houghton height ; 
And the rich dale, that eastward lay, 
Waited the wakening touch of day, 
To give 'ts woods and cultur'd plain, 
And tow'rs and spires, to light again. 
But, westward, Stanmore's shapeless swell, 
And Lunedale wild, and Kelton-fell, 
And rock-hegirdled Gilmanscar, 
And Arkingai-th, lay dark afar ; 
"While, as a livelier twilight falls. 
Emerge proud Barnard's banner'd walls 
High cro%vn''d he sits, in dawning pale. 
The sovereign of the lovely vale. 

II. 

What prospects, from his watch-tower high. 
Gleam gradual on the warder's eye ! 



CANTO 11.3 ROKEBY. 431 

Far sweeping to the east, he sees 
Down his deep woods the course of Tees, 
And tracks his wand'rings by the steam 
Of summer vapours from the stream ; 
And ere he pace his destin'd hour 
By Brackenbury's dungeon-tower, 
These silver mists shall melt away. 
And dew the woods with glitt'ring spimy. 
Then in broad lustre shall be shown 
That mighty trench of living stone, 
And each huge trunk that, from the side, .<i 

Reclines him o'er the darksome tide, 
Where Tees, full many a fathom low. 
Wears with his rage no common foe ; 
For pebbly bank, nor sand-bed here, 
Nor clay-mound, checks his fierce career. 

Condemn'd to mine a channell'd way, \ 

O'er solid sheets of marble grey. j j 

I 



Nor Tees alone, in dawning bright, 
Shall rush upon the ravish'd sight ; 
But many a tributary stream 
Each from its own dark dell shall gleam ■ 
Staindrop, who, from her silvan bowers 
Salutes proud Raby's battled towers ; 
The rural brook of Egliston, 
And Balder, nam d from Odin's son ; 
And Greta, to whose banks ere long 
We lead the lovers of the song ; 
And silver Lune, from Stanmore wild, 
And fairy Thorsgill's murm'ring child. 
And last and least, but loveliest still, 
Romantic Deepdale's slender rill. 
Who in that dim-wood glen hath stray'd. 
Yet long'd for Rosliu's magic glade ? 
Who wand' ring there, hath sought to changt, 
Ev'n for that vale so stem and strange, 
Where Cartland's Crags, fantastic rent. 
Through her green copse like spires are seotP 
Yet, Albin, yet the praise be thine, 
Thy scenes and story to combine I 
B 



458 



CCANTo n. 



Thou bidd'st him, -who by RosUn strays, 

List to the deeds of other days ; 

'J\lid Cartlaud's Crags thou shoVst the caVBi| 

The refuge of thy champion brave ;* 

Giving each rock its storied tale, 

Pouring a lay for eveiy dale, 

Knitting, as with a moral band, 

"i'liy native legends with thy land. 

To lend each scene the iut'rest higb 

Which genius beams from Beauty^s eye. 

IV. 

Bertram a.wait<id not the sight 

Which sun-rise shows from Barnard's height. 

But from the tow'rs, preventing day. 

With Wilfrid took his early way, 

While misty dawn, and moonbeam pale, 

Still mingled in the silent dale. 

By Baniard's bridge of stately stone. 

The southern bank of Tees they won ; 

Their winding path then eastward cast, 

And Egliston's grey ruins pass'd ; 

Each on his o-wn deep visions bent, 

Silent and sad the}- onward went. 

Well may you think that Bertram's moodf 

To Wilfrid savage seem'd and rude ; 

Well may you think bold Risingliarc 

Held Wilfrid trivial, poor, and tame; 

And sm_all the intercourse, I ween. 

Such, uncongenial souls between. 
1 

I V« 

> Stern Bertram shucn'd the nearer way, 

; Through Rokebjy^'s park and chase that lay, 

; And, skirting high the valley's ridge, 

; They cross'd by Greta's ancient bridge. 

! Descending where her waters wind 

; Free for a space and uncontin'd, 

i As, 'scap'd from Brignall's dark-wood glen, 

I She seeks wild Mortham's deeper den, 

I 

* Cartland Crag's, near Lanark, celebrated aa amonc the fftreiw 

ito retreats of Sir WilUam WaUace. 



OANTO II.J ROKEBT. 459 

There, as liis eye glanc'd oer the mound, 
Rais'd by that Legion long renowuM, 
AVhose votive shrine asserts their claka. 
Of pious, faithful, conc[ueriug fame, 
" Stern sons of war f sad \V ilfrid sigh'd, 
" Behold the boast of Roman pride ! 
What now of all your toils are known? 
A grassy trench, a broken stone !" — ■, 
This to himself ; for moral strain 
To Bertram were address'd in vain. 

VI. 

Of different mood, a deeper sigh 
Awoko, when Rokeby's turrets high* 
Were northward in the da\vning seen 
To rear them o'er the thicket green. 
O then, though Spenser's self had stiay'd 
Beside him through the lovely glade. 
Lending his rich luxuriant glow 
Of Fancy, all its charms to sho^7 
Pointing the stream rejoicing free, 
As captive set at liberty, 
Flashing her sparkling waves abroad, 
And clam 'ring jo}-ful on her road; 
Pointing v/here, up the sunny banks, 
The trees retire in scatter'd ranks, 
Save where, advane'd before the rest, 
On knoll or hillock rears his crest, 
Lonely and huge, the giant Oak, 
As champions, when their band is broke. 
Stand forth to guard the rearward post. 
The bulwark of the scatter'd host — 
All this, and more, might Spenser say, 
Yet waste in vain his nmgic lay. 
While Wilfrid eyed the distant tower, 
■Whose lattice lights Matilda's bower. 

VII. 

The open vale is soon pass'd o'er, 
Rokeby, though nigh, is seen no more ; 

* This ancient manor long gave name t« a family by trhom It ia 
•aid to have been possessed froui the Coui^uest downv.-ard, and who 
are at lUrt'eieiit tinwa iliatinttuished iu history. It was the Baroa 
of hokeby who finally defeated the insurieclion of the Eaiiof 
North lunberlaud diiriog the reign of Heiirv IV 



460 ROKEBT. [CANTO H 

Sinking mid Greta's thickets deep, 

A wild and darker course they keep, 

A stern and lone, yet lovely road. 

As e'er the foot of Minstrel trode ! 

Broad shadows o'er their passage fell, 

Deeper and narrower grew the dell ; 

It seem'd some mountain rent and riven. 

A channel for the stream had given, 

So high the cli£fs of limestone grey 

Hung beetling o'er the torrent's way, 

Yielding, along their rugged base. 

A Hinty footpath's niggard space, 

^Vhere he, who winds 'twixt rock and WftVCi, 

May hear the headlong torrent rave, 

And like a steed in frantic fit, 

That flings the froth from curb and bit, 

May view her chafe her waves to spray. 

O'er every rock that bars her way, 

Till foam-globes on her eddies ride. 

Thick as the schemes of human pride 

That down life's current drive amain, 

As frail, as frothy, and as vain ! 



The cliffs that rear their haughty head 
High o'er the river's darksome bed. 
Were now all naked, wild, and gi-ey 
Now waving all with greenwood spray ; 
Here trees to ev'ry crevice clung, 
And o'er the dell their branches hung ; 
And there, all splinter'd and uneven, 
The shiver'd rocks ascend to heaven ; 
Oft, too, the iv}' swath'd their breast, 
And WTeath'd its garland round their ctwtf 
Or from the spires bade loosely flare 
Its tendrils in the middle air. 
As pennons wont to v.'ave of old 
O'er the high feast of Baron bold, 
When re veil' d loud the feudal rout. 
And the arch'd halls return'd their shout ; 
Such and more wild is Greta's roar, 
And such the echoes from her shore. 



CANTO II.] ROKEBT. 

And 30 the ivied banners' gleam 
Waved wildly o'er the brav^ling 

IX. 

Now from the stream the rocks recede. 

But leave between no sunny mead, 

^0, nor the spot of pebbly sand, 

Oft found by such a mountain strand; 

Forming such warru and dry retreat, 

As fancy deems the lonely seat, 

Where hermit, wand' ring from his cell, 

His rosary might love to tell. 

But here, 'twixt rock and river, grew 

A dismal grove of sable yew, 

With whose sad tints were mingled seen 

The blighted fir's sepulchral green. 

Seem"d that the trees their shadows cast 

The earth that nourish'd them to blast ; 

For never knew that swarthy grove 

The verdant hue that fairies love ; 

Nor wilding green, nor woodland flower. 

Arose within its baleful bower ; 

The dank and sable earth receives 

Its only carpet from the leaves. 

That from the with'ring branches cast, 

Bestrew'd the ground with every blast 

Though now the sun was o'er the hill. 

In this dark spot 'twas twilight still, 

Save that on (xreta's farther side 

Some straggling beams through consewood gUdt^ 

And wild and savage contrast made 

That dingle's deep and fun'ral shade. 

With the bright tints of early day. 

Which, glimm'ring through the ivy spraj, 

On the opposing summit lay. 

X. 

The lated peasant shunn'd the dell ; 

For Superstition wont to tell 

01" many a grisly sound and sight, 

Scaring its path at dead of night. 

When Christmas logs blaze high and 'widOy 

Such wonders speed the festid tide ; 



462 ROKEDT. [CANTO 

While Curiosity and Fear, 

Pleasure and Pain, sit crouching near, 

Till childhood's cheek no longer glows, 

And village maidens lose the rose. 

The thrilling interest rises higher. 

The circle closes nigh and nigher. 

And shudd'ring glance is cast behind, 

As louder moane the wintry wind. 

Believe, that fitting scene was laid 

For such wild tales in Mortham glade ; 

For who had seen, on Greta's side. 

By that dim light fierce Bertram stride, 

In such a spot, at such an hour, — 

If touch'd by Superstition's power. 

Might well have deem'd that Hell had given 

A murderer's ghost to upper heaven, 

While Wilfrid's form had seem'd to glide 

Like his pale victim by his side. 

XI. 
Nor think to village swains alone 
Are these unearthly terrors known ; 
For not to rank nor sex confin'd 
Is this vain ague of the mind : 
Hearts firm as steel, as marble hard, 
'Gainst faith, and love, and pity barr'd. 
Have quak'd, like aspen leaves in May, 
Beneath its universal sway. 
Bfcr*-ram had listed many a tale 
Of wonder in his native dale. 
That in his secret soul retain 'd 
The credence they in childhood gain'd: 
Nor less his wild advent'rous youth 
Believ'd in every legend's tnith ; 
Learn'd when, beneath the tropic gale. 
Full swell'd the vessel's steady sail. 
And the broad Indian moon her light 
Pour'd en the watch of middle night, 
When seamen love to hear and teU 
Of portent, prodigy, and spell : 
What gales are sold on Lapland's shore,* 
How whistle rash bids tempests roar, 

• Tlie Lapland vritrhes were faiKons for the sale of 
wiatis which they disposed oi tt> crtduious mariuets. 



CANTO II.] RCKEBY. 463 

Of -witch, of mermaid, and of sprite. 
Of Erick's cap and Elmo's liglit ;* 
Or of that Phantom Ship, whose form 
Shoots like a meteor through the storm ; 
When the dark scud comes driving hard, 
And lower'd is every top-sail yard, 
And canvass wove in earthly looms, 
No more to brave the storm presumes 1 
Then, "mid the war of sea and sky, 
Top and top-gallant hoisted high, 
Pull spread and crowded every sail. 
The Demon Frigatef bra res the gale; 
And well the doom'd spectators know 
The harbinger of wreck and woe. 



Then, too, were told, in stiHed tone, 
Marvels and omens all their own ; 
How, by some desert isle or key,:{: 
WTiere Spaniards WTougtit their cruelty, 
Or where the savage pirate's mood 
Repaid it home in deeds of blood, 
Strange nightly sounds of woe and fear 
Appall d the listening Bucanier, 
W hose ligbt-arm'd shallop anchored lay 
In ambush by the lonely bay. 
The groan of grief, the shriek of pain, 
Ring from the moonlight groves of cane ; 



* That these are general saper^titiong, is well kno^vn to oU vrto 
have lieen on ship-buaid, <ir "ho have cotiverseil with «eainen» 
They farther assert, that Erictis, King of Sweden, was so familiar 
with the evil spirits, that which way soever he tamed his cap, the 
wind wiiuld presentlv blow that way. 

t This is an allus^ion to a well-known nantiral superstition con- 
cerning a fantastic ve.ssel, called by sailors the Klyiiig Dutihman, 
and stip])osed to be seen about the latitii.iei'f the Cape of Good Hope. 
She !■< disti'isfuished from earthly vessels by bearing a press of sail 
when all others are unable, from stre-s of weather, to show au 
inch of canvass. The appirition ot the sliip is considered by the 
mariners as the worst of all po.ssible omens. 

J These keys are sm.ill sandy patclfs, arpearinor just above the 
surface of ilip ocean As many of the atrocities which the bucan- 
iers practised on their prisnncrg were conimittpd in such spots, 
there are snme of these ke\s which even r.«>w V.ave an inditl'ereiit 
reputation among seamen, and where they arc vrith difficnlty pre. 
Taded on to rem.^in ashore at ni^lit on a'cconnt of the visionarj 
terrora mcident to places vrhioi have been thus contaminated. 



464 ROKEBY. ccAirro i& 

The fierce advent 'rer's heart they scare, 
Who wearies mem'ry for a prayer, 
Curses the road-stead, and with gale 
Of early morning lifts the sail, 
To give, in thirst of blood and prey 
A legend for another bay. 

XIII. 

Thus, as a man, a youth, a child 

Train'd in the mystic and the wild, 

With this on Bertram's soul at times 

Rush'd a dark feeling of his crimes ; 

Such to his troubled soul their form, 

As the pale Death-ship to the storm, 

And such their omen dim and dread, 

As shrieks and voiees of the dead, — 

That pang, whose transitory force 

Hover'd twixt horror and remorse ; 

That pang, perchance, his bosom press'd, 

As Wilfrid sudden he address'd : — 

" Wilfrid, this glen is never trod 

Until the sun rides high abroad ; 

Yet twice have I beheld to-day 

A Form, that seem'd to dog our way ; 

Twice from my glance it seem'd to flee 

And shroud itself by cliff or tree. 

How think'st thou? — Is our path way-laid? 

Or hath thy sire my tnist betray 'd? 

If so" Ere, starting from his dream. 

That turn'd upon a gentler theme, 

Wilfrid had rous'd him to reply, 

Bertram sprung forward, shouting high, 

" Whatever thou art, thou now shalt stand F*— 

And forth he darted, sword in hand. 

XIV. 
As bursts the levin in its wrath. 
He shot him down the sounding path ; 
Rock, wood, and stream, rang wildly out. 
To his loud step and savage shout. 
Seems that the object of his race 
Hath scal'd the cliffs ; his frantic chaae 
Sidelong he turns, and now 'tis bent 
Right up the rock's tall battlement ; 



CAKTO U.] BOKEBT. 

Straining each sinew to ascend, 

Foot, hand, and knee, their aid must lend. 

Wilfrid, all dizzy -with dismay, 

Views, from beneath, his dreadful way : 

Now to the oak's warp'd roots he clings. 

Now trusts his weight to ivy strings ; 

Now, like the wild goat, must he dare 

An unsupported leap in air ; 

Hid in the shrubby rain-course now, 

You mark him by the crashing bough. 

And by his corslet's sullen clank, 

And by the stones spurn'd from the bank. 

And by the hawk scar'd from her nest. 

And ravens' croaking o'er their guest. 

Who deem his forfeit limbs shall pay 

The tribute of his bold essay. 

XV. . 

See, he emerges ! — desp'rate now 
All faither course — Yon beetling brov. 
In craggy nakedness sublime, 
What heart or foot shall dare to climb ? 
It bears no tendril for his clasp, 
Presents no angle to his gi'asp : 
Sole stay his foot may rest upon. 
Is yon earth-bedded jetting stone. 
Balanc'd on such precarious prop. 
He strains his grasp to reach the ton. 
Just as the dang' reus stretch he makes, 
By heav'n, his faithless footstool shakes! 
Beneath his tott'ring bulk it bends. 
It sways, — It loosens, — it descends ! 
And do-vnward holds its headlong way. 
Crashing o'er rock and copsewood spray. 
Loud thunders shake the echoing dell !— 
Fell it alone ?— alone it fell. 
Just on the very verge of fate, 
The liardy Bertram's falling weight 
He trusted to his sinewy hands, 
And on the top unharm'd he stands ! 

XVI. 

Wilfrid a safer path pursued ; 
At intervals where, roughly hew'd, 
~u2 



465 



466 ROKEBY. tCANTO VL 

Rude steps ascending from the dell 
Render'd the cliffs accessible. 
By circuit slow he thus attained 
The height that Risingham had gain'd, 
And when he issued from the wood. 
Before the gate of Mortham stood.* 
'Twas a fair scene ! the sunbeam lay 
On battled tow'r and portal grey : 
And from the grassy slope he sees 
The Greta flow to meet the Tees ; 
Where, issuing from her darksome bed, 
She caught the morning's eastern red, 
And through the soft'ning vale below 
Roird her Dright waves, in rosy glow, 
All blushing, to her bridal bed, 
Like some shy maid in convent bred ; 
While linnet, lark, and blackbird gay, 
Sing forth her nuptial roundelay. 

XVII. 

'Twas sweetly sung that roundelay ; 
That summer morn shone blithe and gay ; 
But morning beam, and wild-bird's call, 
AAvak'd not Mort ham's silent hall. 
No porter, by the low-brow'd gate, 
Took in the wonted niche his seat; 
To the pav'd court no peasant drew; 
Wak'd to their toil no menial crew; 
The maiden's carol was not heard, 
As to her morniug task she far'd : 
lu the void offices around, 
Rimg not a hoof, nor bay'd a hound ; 
Nor eager steed, with shrilling neigh, 
Accus'd the lagging groom's delay ; 
Untrimm'd, undressed, neglected now. 
Was alley'd walk and orchard bough ; 
All spoke the master's absent care, 
All spoke neglect and disrepair. 

» The situation of Mortham is eminently I'esatifiil, oecupyinfra 
high ank, at the bottom of which the Greta wm.ls out of Che 
dark, nanow, and roin.uitio dell, uhicli the text has attempted 
to (l«-scribe, and flows on wani thi-oii|,'h a more open Viilley to meet 
the Tees about a quarter ol' a mile tVoni the castle. 



*CANTO IL] ROKEBY. 467 

Sruth of tte gate, an arrow flight. 
Two mighty elms their limbs unite. 
As if a canopy, to sj)read 
O'er the lone dwelling of the dead ; 
For their huge boughs in arches bent 
Above a massive monument, 
Carv'd o'er in ancient Gothic wise. 
With many a scutcheon and device: 
There, spent with toil and sunk in gloom, 
Bertram stood pond'ring by the tomb. 

XVIII. 

*' It vanish'd like a flitting ghost ! 
Behind this tomb," he said, " 'twas lost — 
This tomb, where oft I deem'd lies stor'd 
Of Mortham's Indian wealth the hoard. 
'Tis true, the aged servants said 
Here his lamented wife is laid; 
But weightier reasons may be guess'd 
For their lord's*strict and stern behest, 
That none should on his steps intmde, 
Whene'er he sought this solitude. — 
An ancient mariner I knew. 
What time I sail'd with Morgan's crew, 
Who oft, 'mid our carousals, spake 
Of Raleigh, Forbisher, and Drake ; 
Adventurous hearts ! v.ho bartered, bold. 
Their English steel for Spanish gold. 
Trust not, would his experience say, 
Captain or comrade with your prey ; 
But seek some charnel, when, at full, 
The moon gilds skeleton and skull ; 
There dig, and tomb your precious heap, 
And bid the dead your treasure keep ;* 
Sure stewards they, if Htting spell 
Their service to the task compel. 
Lacks there such charnel? — kill a slave, 
Or prisner, on the treasure grave; 

* If time dill not perinit the Bucaiiiers to lavish aw^y their plut»« 
dec iu their usual ilebaiu-heries, th. y were wont to hule it, in Ihe 
(Icseil \s\aii.ls <ini' keys uhii'h they freijueiited. They are s^id to 
Uavc had leooiir-e to a liorrid ritiidl, lu onler to serure an un- 
earthly gu.ddiaii to their treasures. They killed a TJegro of 
Spaniaid, <«(ia buned hiin with the treasure, believing that hif 
stiiit would huuut the sjiot, ajid terrify away all iniruders. 



468 ROKEBY. GAIKTO U* 

And bid his discontented ghost 
Stalk nightly on his lonely post. — 
Such was his tale. Its truth, I ween 
Is in my morning vision seen." — 

XIX. 

Wilfrid, who scom'd the legend wild, 

In mingled mirth and pity smil'd. 

Much marv'lling that a breast so bold 

In such fond tale belief should hold ; 

But yet of Bertram sought to know 

The apparition''s form and show. — 

The pow'r within the guilty breast, 

Oft vanquish 'd, never quite suppress' d, 

That unsubdued and lurking lies 

To take the felon by surprise. 

And force him, as by magic spell, 

In his despite his guilt to tell, — 

That pow'r in Bertram's breast awoke ; 

Scarce conscious he was heard, he spoke ; 

" "Twas Mortham's form, from foot to head ! 

His morion, with the plume of red, 

His shape, his mien — 'twas Mortham, right 

As when I slew him in the fight." — 

"Thou slay him? — thou?" — With conscious start 

He heard, then mann'd his haughty heart — 

" I slew him ? — I ! — I had forgot 

Thou, stripling, knew'st not of the j^lot. 

But it is spoken — nor v,'ill I 

Deed done, or spoken word, deny. 

I slew him ; 1 1 for thankless pride ; — 

'Twas by this hand that Mortham died." 



Wilfrid, of gentle hand and heart, 

Averse to every active part. 

But most averse to martial broil. 

From danger shrunk, and turn'd from toil; 

Yet the meek lover of the lyre 

Nurs'd one brave spark of noble fire ; 

Against injustice, fraud, or wrong, 

His blood beat high, his hand wax'd strong. 



CANTO IIO ROKEBT. 469 

Not his the nerves that could sustain 
Unshaken, danger, toil, and pain r 
But, when that spark blaz'd forth to flama 
He rose superior to his frame. 
And no\v it came, that gen'rous mood ; 
And, in full current of his blood, 
On Bertram he laid desp'rate hand, 
Plac'd firm his foot, and drew his brand. 
" Should every fiend, to whom thou'rt sold 
Rise in thine aid, I keep my hold. — 
Arouse there, ho ! take spear and sword ! 
Attack the murd'rer of jour Lord !" 

XXI. 
A moment, fix'd as by a spell. 
Stood Bertram — It seem'd miracle. 
That one so feeble, soft, and tame, 
Set grasp on warlike Risingham. 
But when he felt a feeble stroke, 
The fiend within the ruffian woke ! 
To wrench the sword from "Wilfrid's hand. 
To dash him headlong on the sand. 
Was but one moment's work, — oae more 
Had drench'd the blade in Wilfrid's gore ; 
But, in the instant it arose. 
To end his life, his love, his woes, 
A warlike form, that mark'd the scene. 
Presents his rapier sheath'd between, 
Parries the fast-descending blow. 
And steps 'twixt Wilfrid and his foe ; 
Nor then unscabbarded his brand, 
But, sternly pointing with his hand. 
With monarch's voice forbade the fight. 
And motion'd Bertram from his sight. 
" Go, and repent," be said, " while time 
Is giv'n thee ; add not crime to crime.** 

XXII. 
Mute, and uncertain, and amaz'd 
As on a vision, Bertram gaz'd ! 
'Twas Mortham's bearing, bold and high 
His sine-w^ frame, his falcon eye. 
His look and accent of command. 
The martial gesture of his hand. 






470 ROK.EBV. rCANTO IL 

His stately form, spare-built and tall, 

His war-bleach'd locks — 'twas Morthara all. 

Through Bertram's dizzy brain career 

A thousand thoughts, and all of fear ; 

His wav'ring faith receiv'd not quite 

The form he saw as Mortham'-s sprite, 

But more be fear'd it, if it stood 

His lord, in ]i%ang flesh and blood. — 

What spectre can the charnel send, 

So dreadful as an injur'd friend? 

Then, too, the habit of command, 

Us'd by the leader of the band. 

When Risingham, for many a day. 

Had march'd and fought beneath his sw»V, 

Tani'd him — and, with reverted face, 

Backwards he bore his sullen pace ; 

Oft stopp'd, and oft on IMortham star'd. 

And dark as rated mastiff glar'd ; 

But when the tramp of steeds was heard, 

Plung'd in the glen, and disappear'd. 

Nor longer there the Warrior stood, 

Retiring eastward through the wood ; 

But first to Wilfrid warning gives, 

" Tell thou to none that Mortham lives." 



Still rung these' words in Wilfrid's ear. 

Hinting he knew not what of fear ; 

When nearer canie the coursers' tread, 

And, with his father at their head. 

Of horsemen arm'd a gallant power 

Rein'd up their steeds before the tower. 

" Whence these pale looks, my son ?" he said 

" Where's Bertram?— Why that naked biadeF*'- 

Wilfrid ambiguously replied, 

(For Mortham's charge his honour tied,) 

" Bertram is gone — the villain's word 

Avouch'd him murd'rer of his lord ! 

Even now we fought — but, when your tread 

Announced you nigh, the felon fled." 

In Wvcliffe s conscious eye appear 

h. guilty hope, a guilty fear ; 



CANTO IL] ROKEBY. 

On his pale brow the dew-drop broke, 
And his lip quiver'd as he spoke : — 

XXIV. 

* A murd'rer ! — Philip Mortham died 
Amid the battle's wildest tide. 
Wilfrid, or Bertram raves, or you ! 
Yet, grant such strange confession tmu. 
Pursuit were vain— let him fly far- 
Justice must sleep in civil war," 
A gallant Youth rode near his side. 
Brave Rokeby's page, in battle tried; 
That morn, an embassy of weight 
He brought to Barnard's castle gate, 
And follow'd now in Wycliffe's train, 
An answer for his lord to gain. 
His steed, whose arch'd and sable neck 
An hundred wreaths of foam bedeck, 
Chafd not against the curb more high 
Than he at Osv/ald's cold reply ; 
He bit his lip, implor'd his saint, 
(His the old faith) — then burst restraint. 



" Yes ! I beheld his bloody fall, 
By that base traitor's dastard ball. 
Just when I thought to measure sword. 
Presumptuous hope ! with Mortham's lord. 
And shall the murd'rer 'scape, who slew 
His leader, gen'rous, brave, and true ? 
Escape, while on the dew you trace 
The marks of his gigantic pace ? 
No ! ere the sun that dew shall dry, 
False Risingham shall yield or die. — 
Ring out the castle 'larum bell ! 
Arouse the peasants Avith the knell ! 
Meantime disperse — ride, gallants, ridel 
Beset the wood on ev'ry side. 
But if among you one there be. 
That honours Mortham's memory. 
Let him dismount and follow me ! 
Else on your crests sit fear and uharae. 
And foul suspicion dog j'our name 1" 



47 



L 



472 I^OKEBV. [CANTO U 



Instant to earth young Redmond sprung ; 
Instant on earth "the harness rung 
Of twenty men of Wycliffe's baud, 
Who waited not their lord's command, 
Redmond his spurs from buskins drew, 
His mantle from his shoulders threw, 
His pistols iu his belt he plac'd, 
The green-wood gain'd, the footsteps trac'd. 
Shouted like huntsman to his hounds, 
" To cover, hark 1" — and in he bounds. 
"Scarce heard was Oswald's anxious cry 
" Suspicion ! yes — pursue him — fly — 
But venture not, in useless strife, 
On ruffian desp'rate of his life. 
Whoever finds him, shoot him dead ' 
Five hundred nobles for his head '" 



The horsemen gallop'd to make good 

Each path that issued from the wood. 

Loud from the thickets rung the shout 

Of Redmond and his eager route; 

With them was Wilfrid, stung with ire. 

And en\7'ing Redmond's martial fire. 

And emulous of fame. — But Avhere 

Is Oswald, noble Mortham's heir ? 

He, bound by honour, law, and faith, ^ 

Avenger of his kinsman's death ? — 

Leaning against the elmin tree, 

With drooping head and slacken'd knee. 

And clenched teeth, and close-clasp 'd handl, 

In agony of soul he stands ! 

llis downcast eye on earth is bent, 

His soul to ev'ry sound is lent ; 

For in each shout that cleaves the air. 

May ring disco v'ry and despair. 



What 'vail'd it him, that brightly play'd 
The morning sun on Mortham's glade? 
All seems in giddy round to ride, 
Like objects on a stormy tide, 



CANTO n.] ROREBT. 

Seen eddying by the moonlight dim. 
Imperfectly to sink and swim. 
What 'vail'd it, that the fair donaain. 
Its battled mansion, hill and plain. 
On which the sun so brightly shone, 
Envied so long, was now his own? 
The lowest dungeon, in that hour, 
Of Brackeubuiy's dismal tow'r, 
Had been his choice, could such a doom 
Have opeu'd Mortham's bloody tomb ! 
Forc'd, too, to turn unwilling ear 
To each surmise of hope or fear, 
MuiTuur'd among the nistics round, 
Who gather'd at the 'larum sound; 
He dar'd not turn his head away, 
E'en to look up to heaven to pray, 
Pr call on hell, in bitter mood, 
For one sharp death-shot from the wood ! 



At length o'erpast that dreadful space, 
Back straggling came the scatter'd chase; 
Jaded and weary, horse and man, 
Return'd the troopers, one by one. 
Wilfrid, the last, arrived to say, 
All trace was lost of Bertram's way. 
Though Redmond still, up Brignall wood^ 
The hopeless quest in vain pursued.— 
O, fatal d<>om of human race ! 
What tyrant passions passions chase ! 
Remorse from Oswalds brow is gone, 
Av'rice and pride resume their thi'oae; 
The pang of instant terror by. 
They dictate thus, their slave's reply : 



" Ay — let him range like hasty hound ! 
And if the grim wolfs lair be found. 
Small is my care how goes the game 
With Redmond, or with Risingham, 
Nay, answer not, thou simple boy 1 
Thy fair Matilda, all so coy 



473 



474 ROKEBY. ccAKTo ; 

To thee, is of another mood 

To that bold youth of Erin's Mood. 

Thy ditties will she freely praise, 

Aud pay thy pains with courtly phraaa; 

In a rough path will oft command — 

Accent at least — thy friendly hand ; 

His sne avoids, or, urg'd and pray'd. 

Unwilling takes his proffer' d aid, 

While conscious passion plainly speaks 

In downcast look and blushing cheeks. 

Whene'er he sings, will she glide nigh. 

And all her soul is in her eye ; 

Yet doubts she still to tender free 

The wonted words of courtesy. 

These are strong signs ! — yet wherefore sigh, 

And wipe, effeminate, thine eye? 

Thine shall she be, if thou attend 

The counsels of thy sii'e and friend. 

xxxr. 

" Scarce "wert thou gone, -when peep of light 
Brought genuine news of Marstun's fight. 
Brave Cromwell turnM the doubtful tide. 
And conquest bless d the rightful side ; 
Three thousand cavaliers lie dead, 
Rupert and that bold Marquis lied ; 
Nobles and knights, so proud of late. 
Must line for freedoin and estate. 
Of these, committed to my charge. 
Is Rokehy, prisoner at large ; 
Redmond, his page, arriv'd to say 
He reaches Barnard's tow'rs to-day. 
Right heavy shall his ransom be. 
Unless that maid compound with thee ! 
Go to her now — he bold of cheer 
While her soul floats 'twixt hope and fear: 
It is the very change of tide. 
When best the female heart is tried— 
Pride, prejudice, and modesty. 
Are in the current swept to sea ; 
And the bold swain, who plies his oar 
May lightly row his bark to shore." 



CArSK..::.. liu^iuliX, 475 



CANl-O THIRD. 



The hunting tribes of air and earth 
Respect the biethien of their birth ; 
Kalure, ^vho loves the claim of kind. 
Less cruel chase to each assign d. 
The falcon, poisM on soaring wing, 
Watches the wild-duck by tlie spring; 
The slow-hound wakes the fox's lair; 
The greyhound presses on the hare ; 
The eagle pounces on the lanib ; 
The wolf devours the fleecy dam: 
Ev'n tiger fell, and sullen bear, 
Their likeness and their lineage spare, 
Man, only, mars kind Nature's plan, 
And turn's the fierce pursuit on man ; 
Plying w-ar's desultory trade, 
Incursion, flight, and ambuscade, 
Since Nimrod, Gush's mighty son, 
At first the bloody game begun. 



The Indian, prowling for his prey, 

Who hears the settlers track his way, 

And knows in distant forest far 

Camp his red brethren of the war ; 

He, when eac'n double and disguise 

To baffle the pursuit he tries, 

Low crouching now his head to hide. 

Where swampy streams through rushes gUd«, 

Now cov'ring with the wither'd leaves 

The foot-prints that the dew receives ; 

He, skill'd in ev'ry silvan guile. 

Knows not, nor tries, such various wile, 

As Risingham, when on the wind 

Arose the loud pursuit behind. 

In Redesdale his youth had heard 

Each art her wily dalesmen dar'd. 

When Rooken-edge, and Redswair higb 

To bugle rung and blood-bound's cry. 



476 ROKEBY. ICANTO 

Announcing Jedwood-axe and spear, 
And Lid's&le riders in the rear ; 
And well his veut'rous lite had prov'd 
The lessons that his childhood lov'd.* 



Oft had he shown, in climes afar, 
Each attribute of roving war ; 
The sharpen'd ear, the piercing eye, 
The quick resolve in danger aigh ; 
The speed, that in the ^\^hx or chase 
Outstripped the Charib's rapid race 
The steady brain, the sinewy limb, 
To leap, to climb, to dive, to swim; 
The iron frame, inur'd to bear 
Each dire inclemency of air, 
Nor less confirmM to undergo 
Fatigue's faint chill, and famine's throe. 
These arts he prov'd, hislife to save 
In peril oft by land and wave, 
On Arawaca's desert shore, 
Or where La Plata's billows roar. 
When oft the sons of vengeful Spain 
Track'd the marauder's steps in vain. 
These arts, in Indian warfare tried. 
Must save him now by Greta's side. 

IV. 

Twas then, in hour of utmost need. 

He prov'd his courage, art, and speed. 

Now slow he stalk'd with stealthy pace. 

Now started forth in rapid race. 

Oft doubling back in mazy train. 

To blind the trace the dews retain ; 

Now clombe the rocks projecting hagh. 

To baffle the pursuer's eye ; 

Now sought the stream, whose brawling sound 

The echo of his footsteps droAvn'd. 

* Rpidswair, famed for a skirmish to which it gives nanse, if am 
the veiy edse of the Carter- Fell, which divides England from 
Scotland. The Ronken is a place upon Reedwater. Bertram, 
bein^ described as a native of these dales, where the habiis ol 
hostile depredation long survived the uni- n of the crowns, may 
have been, in some de/ree, prepared by edncaliou for the exercise 
of a Eimilar trade iu the wars of the Bucamers, 



CANTO riL] 



R0KEB7. -477 



But if the forest verge he nears, 

There trample steeds, and glimmer spean; 

If deeper down the eopse he drew, 

He heard the rangers' loud halloo, 

Beating each cover while they came. 

As if to start the silvan game, 

'Twas then — like tiger close beset 

At ev'ry pass with toil and net, 

'Counter'd where'er he turns his glaxe* 

By clashing arms and torches' .flare, 

Who meditates, with furious bound. 

To burst on hunter, horse, and hound, — 

'Twas then that Bertram's soul arose. 

Prompting to rush upon his foes : 

But as that crouching tiger, cow'd 

By brandish'd steel and shouting crowd. 

Retreats beneath the jungle's shroud, 

Bertram suspends his purpose stem, 

And couches in the brake and fern. 

Hiding his face, lest foemen spy 

The sparkle of his swarthy eye. 



Then Bertram might the bearing trace 

Of the bold youth who led the chase ; 

Whcr paus'd to list for ev'ry sound, 

Climb'd ev'ry height to look around, 

Then rushing on with naked sword, 

Each dingle's bosky depths explor'd. 

'Twas Redmond — by the azure eye ; 

'Twas Redmond — by the locks that fly 

Disorder'd from his glowing cheek ; 

Mien, face, and form, young Redmond speak* 

A form more active, light, and strong. 

Ne'er shot the ranks of war along; 

The modest, yet the manly mien, • 

Might grace the court of maiden queen; 

A face more fair you well might find. 

For Redmond's knew the sun and wuid. 

Nor boasted, from their tinge when &ee, 

The charm of regularity ; 

But ev'ry feature had the pow'r 

To- aid tn' exprt55sion ot the hour : 



478 ROKEBT, CCANTO ZIL 

Whether gay wit, and humour sly, 

Danc'd laughing in his light-blue eye ; 

Or bended brow, and glance of fire. 

And kindling cheek, spoke Erin's ire ; 

Or soft and sadden d glances show 

Her ready s}Txipathy with woe ; 

Or in that wapvard naood of mind, 

When various feelings are combined, 

When joy and sorrow mingle near. 

And hope's bright wings are check'd by ieat, 

And rising doubts keep transport do\vn, 

And anger lends a short-liv'd fro^vn ; 

In that strange mood which maids approve 

Ev'n when they dare not call it love ; 

With every change his features play'd. 

As aspens show the light and shade. 



Well Risingham young Redmond knew : 
And much he marvelfd that the crew, 
Rous'd to revenge bold Mortham dead. 
Were by that Alorthams foeman led; 
For never felt his soul the woe, 
That wails a gen'rous foeman low. 
Far less that sense of justice strong. 
That wreaks a gen'rous foeman's wrong. 
But small his leisure now to pause ; 
Redmond is first, whate'er the cause : 
And twice that Redmond came so near 
Where Bertram couch d like hunted deer, 
The very boughs his steps displace, 
Rustled against the ruffian's face. 
Who, desp'rate, twice prepar'd to start, 
And plunge his dagger in his heart ! 
But Rednfbnd turn'd a diffrent way. 
And the tent boughs resumed their i 
And Bertram held it wise, unseen, 
Deeper to plunge in coppice green. 
Thus, circled in his coil, the snake. 
When roving hunters beat the brake, 
Watches with red and glistening eye, 
Prepar'd, if heedless step draw nigh, 



f>A>TO li:.] ROKEBY. 

With forked tongue and venom'd fang 
Instant to dart the deadly pang ; 
But if the intruders turn aside, 
Away his coils unfolded glide, 
And through the deep savannah wind, 
Some undisturb'd retreat to find. 

vir. 
But Bertram, as he backward drew, 
And heard the loud pui'suit renew, 
And Redmond's hollo on the wind, 
Oft mutter'd in his savage mind — 
" Redmond O'Neale ! were thou and I 
Alone this day's event to trs'. 
With not a second here to see, 
But the grey cliff and oaken tree, — 
That voice of thine, that shouts so loud. 
Should ne'er repeat its summons proud f 
No ! nor e'er try its melting power 
Again in maiden's summer bower." 
Eluded, now behind him die, 
Faint and more faint, each hostile ciy; 
He stands in Scargill wood alone, 
Nor hears he now a harsher tone 
Than the hoarse cus'nat's plaintive cry, 
Or Greta's sound that murmurs by ; 
And on the dale, so lone and wild. 
The summer sun in quiet smil'd. 

VIII. 

He listen'd long with anxious heart, 
Ear bent to hear, and foot to start, 
And, while his stretch'd attention glowa, 
Refus'd his weary frame repose. 
*Twas silence all — he laid him down. 
Where purple heath profusely strown 
And throatwort with its azure bell, 
And moss and thyme his cushion swell. 
There, spent with toil, he listless ey'd 
The course of Greta's playful t'de ; 
Beneath, her banks now eddy'iig dun. 
Now brightly gleaming to th'j sun, 
As, dancing over rock and stone, 
la yellow light her currents shone^ 



480 ROKEBY. C CANTO 1 

Matching in hue the fav'rite gem 

Of Albin's mountain-diadem. 

Then, tir'd to watch the cuiTent's play, 

He turn'd his weary eyes away, 

To where the bank opposing show'd 

Its huge, square cliffs, through shaggy wood. 

One, prominent above the rest, 

Rear'd to the si:n its pale grey breast ; 

Around its broken summit grew 

The hazel rude, and sable yew ; 

A thousand varied lichens dy'd 

Its waste and weather-beaten side 

And round its rugged basis lay, 

By time or thunder rent away. 

Fragments, that, from its frontlet torn, 

Were mantled now by verdaut thorn. 

Such was the scene's wild majesty, 

That filFd stem Bertram's gazing eye. 

IX. 

In sullen mood he lay reclin'd. 
Revolving, in his stormy mind. 
The felon deed, the fruitless guilt. 
His patron's blood by treason spilt; 
A crime, it seem"d, so dire and dread. 
That it had pow'r to walce the dead. 
Then, pond'ring on his life betray'd 
By Oswald's art to Redmond's blade, 
In treach'rous purpose to withhold, 
So seem'd it, Mortham's promis'd gold, 
A deep and full revenge he vow'd 
On Redmond, forward, fierce, and proud ; 
Revenge on Wilfrid — on his sire 
Redoubl'd vengeance, swift and dire ! — 
If, in such mood, (as legends say, 
And well believ'd that simple day,) 
The Enemy of Man has pow'r 
To profit by the evil hour. 
Here stood a wretch, p-epar'd to change 
His soul's redemption rar revenge !* 

• It is agreed by all writers upon mngic and witchcraft, that i 
venge was the most common motive for the pretended compact t 
tween baian and hia vassals. 



CANTO ni.] ROKEBY. 

But though his vows, with such a fire 
Of earnest and intense, desire 
For vengeance dark and fell, were made, 
As well might reach hell's lowest shade, 
No deeper clouds the grove embrown'd, 
No nether thunders shook the ground ; — 
The demon knew his vassal's heait, 
And spar d temptation's needless art 

'X. 
Oft, mingled with the direful theme, 
Came Mortham's form — Was it a dream? 
Or had he seen, in vision true. 
That very Moitham whom he slew? 
Or had in living" flesh appeared 
The only man on earth he fear'd ? — 
To try the mystic cause intent, 
His eyes, that on the cliff were bent, 
'Counter'd at once a dazzling glance. 
Like sunbeam flash'd from sword or lance. 
At once he started as for fight, 
But not a foeman was in sight ; 
He heard the cushat's murmur hoarse, 
He heard the river's sounding course ; 
The solitary woodlands lay, 
As slumb'ring in the summer ray. 
He gaz'd, like lion rous'd, around. 
Then sunk again upon the ground. 
'Twas but, he thought, some fitful beam, 
Glanc'd sudden from the sparkling stream j 
Then plung'd him from his gloomy traia 
Of ill-connected thoughts again, 
Until a voice behind him cried, 
" Bertram ! well met on Greta side.** 

XI. 
Instant his sword was in his hand, 
As instant sunk the ready brand ; 
Yet, dubious still, oppos'd he stood 
To him that issued from the wood : 
" Guy Denzil ! — is it thoU ?" he said; 
"• Do we tv.o meet in Scargill shade ! — 
Stand back a space ! — thy pui-pose show 
Whether thou com'st as friend or foe. 

X 



482 ROKEBT, [CANTO nt 

Report hath said, that Denzil's naiLO 
From Rokeby's band was raz'd w'itti sham©,*'— 
"A shame I owe that hot O'Neale, 
Who told his knight, in peevish zeal, 
Of my marauding on the clowns 
Of Calverley and Bradford downs.* 
I reck not. In a war to strive. 
Where, save the leaders, none can thrive 
Suits ill my mood ; and better game 
Awaits us both, if thou'rt the same 
Unscnapulous, bold Risingham, 
** Who watch'd with me in midnight dark, 
To snatch a deer from Rokeby-park. 
How think'st thou?" — "Speak thypurpos* out? 
I love not mystery or doubt."— 

xir. 

" Then, list.— Not far there lurk a crew 
Of trusty comrades, stanch and true, 
Cxlean'd from both factions — Roundheada, freed 
From cant of sermon and of creed ; 
* And Cavaliers, whose souls, like mine. 
Spurn at the bonds of discipline. 
W iser, we judge, by dale and wold, 
A warfare of our own to hold. 
Than breathe our last on battle-down. 
For cloak or surplice, mace or crown. 
Our schemes are laid, our purpose set, 
A chief and leader lack we yet. — 
Thou art a wand'rer, it is said ; 
For Mortham's death, thy steps way-laid, 
Thy head at price — so say our spies, 
Who range the valley in disguise. 
Join then with us : — though wild debate 
And wrangling rend our infant state. 
Each to an equal loath to bow, 
"W^ill yield to chief renown'd as thou.** 



» The troopg of the King, when they first toolc the field, were as 
well disciplined as could be expected from cirpumBtanres. But as 
the cireumstauoes of Charlesbecanie less favourable, aud hlsfiinds 
for regularly paying his forces decreased, habits of Military license 
preraDed aoaoug them in greater excess. 



OAirro m.j rokkbt. 4 

XIII. 

" E'en now," thought Berti-am, " passion- stirr'dj 

I call'd on hell, and hell has heard! 

What lack I, vengeance to command. 

But of stanch comrades such a hand ? 

This Denzil, vow'd to ev'ry evil, 

Might read a lesson to the devil. 

Well, be it so ! each knave and fool 

Shall sen'e as my revenge's tool." — 

Aloud, " I take thy proner, Guy, 

But tell me where thy comrades lie ?" — 

" Not far from hence," Gay Donzil said ; 

*' Descend, and cross the river's bed, 

Where rises yonder clitf so grey." 

" Do thou," said Bertram, " lead the -way. 

Then mutter'd, " It is best make sure ; 

Guy DeuziFs faith was never pure." 

He followed down the steep descent, 

Then through the Greta's streams they w«ut | 

And, when they reach'd the farther shore, 

They stood the lonely cliff before. 

XIV. 

With wonder Bertram heard within 

The flinty rock a murmur'd din ; 

But when Gxiy pull'd the wilding spray, 

And brambles, from its base away. 

He saw, appearing to the air, 

A little entrance, low and square, 

Like op'ning cell of hermit lone. 

Dark, winding through the living etone. 

Here enter'd Denzil, Bertram here ; 

And loud and louder on their ear, 

As from the bowels of the earth. 

Resounded shouts of boist'rous mirth. 

Of old, the cavern strait and rude. 

In slaty rock the peasant hew'd ; 

And Brignall's woods, and Scargill'a wave. 

E'en now, o'er many a sister cave. 

Where, far within the darksome nft, 

The wetlge and lever ply their thrift. 

But war had sileuc'd rural trade, 

And the deserted mine was made 



484 ROKEBY. [CAJITO 

The banquet-hall and fortress too. 
Of Denzil and his desp'rate crew. — 
There Guilt his anxious revel kept; 
There, on his sordid pallet, slept 
Guilt-boni Excess, the goblet di-ainM 
Still in his slumb'ring grasp retain'd; 
Regret was there, his eye stiU cast 
With vain repining on the past ; 
Among the fsasters waited near 
Sorrow, and unrepentant Fear, 
And Blasphemy, to frenzy driv'n, 
With his own crimes reproaching heaT*B ; 
While Bertram show'd, amid the crew. 
The Master- Fiend that Milton drew. 

XY. 

Hark ! the loud revel wakes again, 

To greet the leader of the train. 

Behold the group by the pale lamp. 

That struggles with the earthy damp. 

By what strange features Vice has known. 

To single out and mark her own ! 

Yet some there are, whoie brows retain 

Less deeply stamped her brand and stain. 

See yon pale stripling ! when a boy, 

A mother's pride, a father's joy ! 

Now, 'gainst the vault's rude walls reclin'd. 

An early image fills his mind : 

The cottage, once his sire's, he sees, 

Embower d upon the banks of Tees ; 

He views sweet AVinston's woodland scene. 

And shares the dance on Gaiuford-green. 

A tear is springing — but the zest 

Of some wild tale, or brutal jest. 

Hath to loud laughter stirr'd the rest. 

On him they call, the aptest mate 

For jovial song and merry feat ; 

Fast Hies his dream — with dauntleai aif) 

As one victorious o'er Despair, 

He bids the ruddy cup go round, 

Til] sense and sorrow both are drown'd ; 

And soon, in merry wassail, he, 

The life of all their rev«lry» 



CAMo m.] r;oi<r:,!V. 485 

Peals his loud song ! — Tbe n.use has found 
Her blossoms on the wildest ground, 
'Mid noxious weeds at random strew'd, 
Themselves all profitless and inde. — 
With desp'rate merriment he sung, 
The cavern to the chorus rung ; 
Yet mingled with his reckless glee 
Remorse s bitter agony. 



SONG. 

O, Brignall banks are wild and fair. 

And Greta woods are green. 
And you may. gather garlands there. 

Would grace a summer queen. 
And as I rode by Dalton-hall, 

Beneath the turrets high, 
A maiden on the castle wall 

Was singing merrily, — 

0iorus. 
** O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair. 

And (Ireta woods are green ; 
I'd rather rove with Edmund there, 

Thau reign our English queen." — 



" If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, 

To leave both tow'r and town. 
Thou first must guess what life lead we, 

That dwell by dale and down? 
And if thou canst that riddle read, 

As read full well you may. 
Then to the greenwood shalt thou sp&ed. 

As blithe as Queen oif May." — 

Chorus. 
Yet sung she, " Brignall banks are fair, 

And Greta woods are green ; 
Fd rather rove with Edmund there. 

Than reisTi our English queen. 



485 BOKEBY. CCAMTO Dl 



" I read you, by your bugle-hom. 

And by your palfrey good, 
I read you for a ranger sworn. 

To keep the king's greenwood/*— 
"A Ranger, lady, winds his horn, 

And 'tis at peep of light ; 
His blast is heard at merry mom. 

And mine at dead of night," — 

Chorus. 
Yet sung she, " Brignall banks are fair. 

And Greta woods are gay ; 
I would I were with Edmund there, 

To reign his Queen of May ! 

" With burnish'd brand and musketoon. 

So gallantly you come, 
I read you for a bold Dragoon, 

That lists the tuck of drum." — 
•' I list no more the tuck of drum, 

No more the trumpet hear; 
But when the beetle sounds his hum. 

My comrades take the spear. 

Cliorus. 
"And, O ! though Brignall banks be £ur, 

And Greta woods be gay, 
Yet mickle must the maiden dare, 

Would reign my Queen of May ' 



** Maiden ! a nameless life I lead, 

A nameless death I'll die ; 
The fiend, whose lantern lights the mead. 

Were better mate than I ! 
And when I'm with my comrades met. 

Beneath the greenwood bough. 
What once we were we all forget, 

Nor think what we are now. 



CAMTO 1X1.3 ROKKBT. 

Cfioriis. 
Yet Brignall 1)aiiks aro fresh and fair. 
And Greta woods are green, 
And you may gather garJands there 
Would grace a summer queen." 

When Edmund ceased his simple scfag. 
Was silence on the sullen throng, 
Till wak'd some ruder mate their glee 
"With note of coarser minstrelsy. 
But, far apart, in dark divan, 
Denzil and Bertram many a plan, 
Of import foul and fierce, designed, 
While still on Bertram's grasping mind 
The wealth of murder d Mortham hung ; 
Though half he fear'd his daring tongue. 
When it should give his wishes birth, 
Might raise a spectre from the earth ! 



At length his -wondrous tale he told : 
When, scornful, srail'd his comrade bold; 
For, train'd in licence of a court. 
Religion's self was Denzil's sport : 
Then judge in what contempt he held 
The visionary tales of eld ! 
His awe for Bertram scarce repress'd 
The unbeliever s sneering jest. 
" 'Tv,ere hard," he said, " for sage or seef 
To spell the subject of your fear ; 
Nor do I boast the art renown'd, 
Vision and omen to expound, 
Yet, faiih if I must needs afford 
To spectre watching treasur'd hoard. 
As ban-dog keeps his master's roof. 
Bidding the plund'rer stand aloof, 
Tliis doubt remains — thy goblin gaunt 
Hath chosen ill his ghostly haunt; 
For why his guard on Mortham hold, 
When Rokeby castle hath the gold 
Thy patron won on Indian soil, 
By stealth, by piracy, and spoil ?"— 



487 



488 



[CANTO m 



At tliis ho paufl'd — for angry shame 

Lower'd on the brow of Risingham. 

He blush'd to think, that he should seem 

Asseitor of an iiiry dream, 

And gave his wrath another theme. 

" Denzil," he says, " though lowly laid, 

Wrong not the meni'ry of the dead ; 

For, while he liv'd, at Mortham's look 

Thy verj- soul, Guy Denzil, shook ! 

And when he tax'd thy breach of word 

To yon fair rose of Allenford, 

I saw thee crouch like chasten'd hound, 

Whose back the huntsman's lash hath found. 

Nor dare to call his foreign wealth 

The spoil of piracy or stealth ; 

He won it bravely with his brand. 

When Spain wag'd warfare with our land. 

Mark, too — I brook no idle jeer. 

Nor couple Bertram's name with fear 

Mine is but half the demon's lot, 

For 1 believe, but tremble not, — ■ 

Enough of this. — Say, why this hoard 

Thou deem'st at Rokeby castle stord ; 

Or thiniv'st that Moitham would bestow 

His treasure with his faction's foe ?" 



Soon quench'd was Denzil's ill-tim'd mirth; 

Rather he would have seen the earth 

Give to ten thousand spectres birth, 

Than venture to awake to flame 

The deadly wrath of Risingham. 

Submiss he answer'd, — " Moithaiii's miudy 

Thou know'st, to joy was ill inclin'd. 

In youth, 'tis said, a gallant free, 

A lusty reveller was he ; 

But since return'd fiom over sea, 

A sullen and a silent mood 

Hath numb d the current of his blood. 

Hence he refus d each kindly call 

To Rokeby's hospitable hall, 



CANTO m.] ROKEBT. 

And our stout kiiiglit, at dawn of mom 

Who lov'd to hear the bugle- horn. 

Nor less, when eve his oaks embrown'dj 

To see the ruddy cup go round, 

Took umbrage that a friend so near 

Refus'd to share his chase and cheer ; 

Thus did the kindred barons jar, 

Ere they divided in the war. 

Yet, trust me, friend, Matilda fair 

Of Mortham's wealth is destin'd heir.'*— 

XXII. 
" Destin'd to her ! to yon slight maid ! 
The prize my life had well nigh paid. 
When 'gainst Laroche, by Cayo's wave 
I fought, my patron's wealth to save ! — 
Denzil, I knew him long, but ne'er 
Knew him that joyous cavalier, 
AVhora youthful friends and early fame 
Caird soul of gallantry and game. 
A moody man, he sought our crew, 
Desp'rate and dark, whom no one knew; 
And rose, as men with us must rise. 
By scorning life and all its ties. 
On each adventure rash he rov'd, 
As danger for itself he lov'd ; 
On his sad brow nor mirth nor wine 
Could e'er one wrinkled knot untwine ; 
111 was the omen if he smil'd, 
For 'twas in peril stern and wild ; 
But when he laugh'd, each luckless mat© 
Might hold our fortune desperate. 
Foremost he fought in ev'ry broil, 
Then scornful turnd him from the spoil : 
Nay, often strove to bar the way 
Between his comrades and their prey ; 
Preaching, ev'n then, to such as we. 
Hot with our dear-bought victory, 
Of mercy and humanity. 

XXIII. 

** I lov'd him well — His fearless pAii» 
His gallant leading, -won mj heart. 
x2 



489 



490 R0KF3Y. COAMTO XO. 



'Twas I'tbat wrangrd for his right, 
Redeem'd his portion of the prey- 
That greedier mates had torn away : 
In field and storm thrice sav'd his life, 
And once amid our comrades' strife. — > 
Yes, I have lov'd thee ! Well hath prov'd 
My toil, my danger, how I lov'd ! 
Yet will I mourn no more thy fate, 
Ingrate in life, in death ingrate. 
Rise if thou canst !" he look'd around, 
And sternly stamp'd upon the ground — 
" Rise, with thy bearing proud and high, 
Ev'n as this morn it met mine eye, 
And give me, if thou dar'st, the lie 1" 
He paus'd — then, calm and passion-freed, 
Bade Denzil with his tale proceed. 

XXIV. 

•' Bertram, to thee I need not tell, 

What thou hast cause to wot so well, 

How Superstition's nets were twin'd 

Around the Lord of Mortham's mind , 

But since he drove thee from his tower, 

A maid he found in Greta's bower. 

Whose speech, like David's harp, had sway. 

To charm his evil fiend away. 

I know not if her features mov'd 

Remembrance of the wife he lov'd ; 

But he would gaze upon her eye, 

Till his mood soften'd to a sigh. 

He, whom no living mortal sought 

To question of his secret thought. 

Now ev'ry thought and care confess'd 

To his fair niece's faithful breast ; 

Nor was there aught of rich and rare. 

In earth, in ocean, or in air. 

But it must deck Matildas hair. 

Her love still bound him unto life • 

But then awoke the civil strife. 

And menials bore, by his commands. 

Three coifers, with ibeir iron bauds, 



r \-,TO III.] ROKKBT. 491 

I'Vom Mortliam's vault, at midnight deep, 
To iier lone bower in Rokeby-Keep, 
Pond'rous with gold and plate of pride — 
His gift, if he in battle died." — 



" Then Denzil, as I guess, lays train, 
These iron-banded chests to gain ; 
Else, wherefore should he hover here, 
Where many a peril -waits him near, 
For all his feats of war and peace. 
For plunder'd boors, and harts of gi'ease ? 
Since through the hamlets as he far'd, 
What hearth has Guy's marauding spar'd, 
Or where the chase that hath not rung 
With Denzil's bow, at midnight strung.'"'— 
" I hold my wont — my rangers go, 
Ev'n now to track a milk-white doe. 
By Rokeby-hall she takes her lair, 
In Greta wood she harbours fair, - 
And when my huntsman marks her way, 
What think 'st thou, Bertram, of the prey ? 
W^ere Rokeby's daughter in our power. 
We rate her ransom at her dower." — 



" 'Tis well ! — there's vengeance in the thought, 

Matilda is by Wilfrid sought ; 

And hot-brain'd Redmond, too, 'tis said, 

Pays lover"s homage to the maid. 

Bertram she scorn "d — If met by chance. 

She tum'd from me her shudd'iing glance, 

Like a nice dame, that will not brook 

On what she hates and loathes to look ; 

She told to Mortham she could ne'er 

Behold me without secret fear, 

Foreboding evil : — She may rue 

To find her prophecy fall true ! — 

The war has weeded Rokeby's train. 

Few foU'wers in his halls remain ; 

If thy scheme miss, then, brief and bold, 

W^e are enow to storm the hold ; 



492 ROKEBY. [CANTO m. 

Bear oflf the plunder, and the dame. 
And leave the castle ali in tiame." — 

XXVII. 
*' Still art thou Valour's vent'rous sou 1 
Yet ponder first the risk to run : 
The menials of the castle, true, 
And stuhborn to their charge, though few ; 
The wall to scale — the moat to cross — 

The wicket-grate — the inner fosse" 

"• Fool 1 if we blench for toys like these, 

On what fair guerdon cau we seize ? 

Our hardiest venture, to explore 

Some wretched peasant's fenceless door, 

And the best prize we bear away, 

The earnings of his sordid day." 

" A while thy hasty taunt forbear : 

In sight of road more sure and fair, 

Thou wouldst not choose, in blindfold wrath« 

Or wantonness, a desp'rate path ? 

List then ; — for vantage or assault. 

From gilded vane to dungeon vault, 

Each pass of Rokeby-house I know: 

There is one postern, dark and low, 

That issues at a secret spot. 

By most neglected or forgot. 

Now, could a spial of our train 

On fair pretext admittance gain. 

That sally-port might be unbarr'd : 

Then, vain were battlement and ward !" 

XXVIII. 

" Now speak' st thou well : — to me the 
If force or art shall urge the game ; 
Indiff'rent, if like fox I wind. 
Or spring like tiger on the hind. — 
But, hark ! our merry men so gay 
Troll forth another roundelay." — 

SONO. 



** A weary lot is thine, fair inaid, 
A weary lot is thine I 



CANTO IIL] ROKKBY. 

To pull the thorn thy brow to braid. 

And press the rue for wine ! 
A lightsome ej-e, a soldier's mienj 

A feather of the blue, 
A doublet of the Lincoln green, — 

No more of me you knew. 

My love I 
No more of me you knew. 

" This morn is merry June, I trow, 

The rose is budding fain ; 
But she shall bloom m winter sncw, 

Ere we two meet again." 
He turn'd his charger as he spake. 

Upon the river shore. 
He gave his bridle-reins a shake, 

Said, " Adieu for evermore. 

My love ! 
And adieu for evermore." — 



XXIX. 

" What youth is this, your band among, 
The best for minstrelsy and song ? 
In his wild notes seem aptly met 
A strain of pleasure and regret." — 
" Edmond of Winston is his name; 
The hamlet sounded with the fame 
Of early hopes his childhood gave, — 
Now center'd all in Brignall cave ! 
I watch him well — his wayward course 
Shows oft a tincture of remorse. 
Some early love-shaft graz'd his heart;, 
And oft the scar will ache and smart. 
Yet is he useful ; — of the rest. 
By fits, the~darling and the jest, 
His harp, his story, and his lay. 
Oft aid the idle hours away : ' 
When unemployd, each fiery mate 
Is ripe for mutinous debate. 
He tuned his strings e'en now — agam 
Ho wakes them, with a blither strain. 



4d3 



4W4 BOKEB?. ICAWrO IB. 

XXX, 

SONQ. 

Al.LEN->t-PAT.B. 

AUen-a-Dale has no fagot for burning, 
Allen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning, 
Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinnings 
Yet AlIen-a-Dale has red gold for the winning. 
Come, read me my riddle ! come, hearken my tale I 
And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a-Dale. 

The Baron of Ravensworth prances in pride, 
And he views his domains upon Arkindale side. 
The mere for his net, and the land for his game, 
The chase for the wild, and the park for the tame • 
Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale, 
Are less free to Lord Dacre than Allen-a-Dale ! 

Allen-a-Dale w^as ne'er belted a knight, 

Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as bright; 

Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord. 

Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at his word ; 

And the best of our nobles his bonnet will vail, 

Who at Rere-cross* on Stanmore meets Allen-a- Dale. 

Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come ; 
The mother, she ask'd of his household and home : 
"Though the castle of Richmond stand fair on the hill. 
My hall," quoth bold Allen, " shows gallauter still ; 
'Tis the blue vault of heav'n, with its crescent so pale, 
And with all its bright spangles 1" said Allen-a-Dale. 
The father was steel, and the mother was stone ; 
They lifted the latch, and they bade him be gone ; 
But loud, on the morrow, their wail and their cry : 
He had laugh'd on the lass with his bonny black eye. 
And she tied to the forest to hear a love-tale, 
And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale I 

xxxr. 

" Thou see'st that, whether sad or gay, 
I^ove mingles ever in his lay. 

* This is a fragment of an old cross, -with its pediment, gur- 
ronnded by au ifitteuchment, iipnn tlie very summit of tl,e waste 
ridge nf Stanmore, near a sDiall house of enlertainmeut called the 
3pittal. 



CANTO IV.] ' ROKEBY. 495 

But "when his boyish wayTvard fit 
Is o'er, he hath address and wit ; 
O ! 'tis a brain of fire, can ape 
Each dialect, each various shape." — 
" Nay, then, to aid thy project, Guy- 
Soft ! who comes here?" — '■'' My trusty spy. 
Speak, Hamlin ! hast thou lodged our deer?** — 
" I have — but two fair stags are near. 
T watch'd her, as she slowly stray'd 
From Eglistone up Thorsgill glade ; 
But Wilfrid Wycliffe sought her side, 
And then young Redmond, in his pride, 
Shot down to meet them on their \vay : 
Much, as it seem'd, was theirs to say : 
There's time to pitch both toil and net, 
Before their path be homeward set." 
A hurried and a wliisper'd speech 
Did Bertram's will to Denzil teach ; 
Who, turning to the robber band. 
Bade four, the bravest, take the brand. 



CANTO FOURTH. 



I. 
When Denmark's raven soar'd on high. 
Triumphant through Northumbrian sky,* 
Till, hov'ring near, her fatal croak 
Bade Reged's Britons dread the yoke, 
And the broad shadow of her wing 
Blacken'd each cataract and spring. 
Where Tees in tumult leaves his source, 
Thund'ring o'er C'aldron and High- Force ; 
Beneath the shade the Northmen came, 
Fix'd on each vale a Runic name, 

* About the year of God 866, the Danes, tiBder their celebrated 
lenders Inguar (more properly Affiiar) and Huliba, sons, it i> said, 
of the still more celebrated Rt-gnar Lodbrog, invaded Xoi thnniber- 
land, bringing with them the mdgical standard, to often menlion- 
ed in poetry, called Rt;»KK>i,or Kannfan, from its b aring the 
Bgi.re ot a raven. They ren*"wed and extended their incursions, 
ftiid bf gun to colonize, eiil.<oiu.hing a kind of capital at York, from 
which they spread their conquests and incursions iu every direo 
tion. 



496 EOK.EAY. 



[CANTO nr 



Rear'd high their ^.Itars' rugged stone, 
And gave their Gods the land they won. 
Then, Balder, one hleak garth was thine. 
And one sweet brooklet's silver line, 
And Woden's Croft did title gain 
From the stern Father of the Slain ; 
But to the Monarch of the Mace, 
That held in fight the foremost place. 
To Odin's son, and Sifia's spouse. 
Near Stratforth high thej'' paid their vows, 
Remeniber'd Thor's victorious fame. 
And gave the deli the Thund'rer's name. 

Yet Scald or Kemper err'd, I ween, 
Who gave that soft and quiet scene, 
With all its varied light and shade, 
And every little sunnf glade. 
And the blithe brook that strolls along 
Its pebbled bed with summer song. 
To the grim God of blood and scar. 
The grisly King of Northern War. 
O, better were its banks assign'd 
To spirits of a gentler kind ! 
For where the thicket-groups recede. 
And the rath primrose decks the mead. 
The velvet grass seems carpet meet 
For the light fairies' lively feet. 
Yon tufted knoll, with daisies strown 
Might make proud Oberon a throne, 
While, hidden in the thicket nigh, 
Puck should brood o'er his frolic sly; 
And where profuse the wood-vetch clings 
Round ash and elm, in verdant rings, 
Its pale and azure-pencill'd flower 
Should canopy Titania's bower. 



Here rise no cliffs the vale to shade ; 
But, skirting ev'ry sunny glade. 
In fair variety of green 
The Avoodland lends its silvan screen. 



CANTO IV.l ROKEBT. 

Hoary, yet haughty, frowns the oak. 
Its boughs by weight of ages broke ; 
And tow'rs erect, in sable spire, 
The pine-tree BcatVd by lightning-fire ; 
The drooping ash and birch, between, 
Hang their fair tresses o'er the green. 
And all beneath, at random grow 
Each coppice dwarf of varied show. 
Or, round the stems profusely twin'd. 
Fling summer odours on the wind. 
Such varied group U rhino's hand 
Round Him of Tarsus nobly plann'd. 
What time he bade proud Athens own 
On Mars's Mount the God Unknown! 
Then grey Philosophy stood nigh. 
Though bent by age, in spirit high : 
There rose the scar-seam'd vet'ran's spear, 
There Grecian Beauty bent to hear. 
While Childhood at her foot was plac'd 
Or clung delighted to her waist. 



" And rest we here," Matilda said. 
And sate her in the varying shade. 
Chance-met, we well may steal an hour, 
To friendship due from fortune's power. 
Thou, "V\'ilfrid, ever kind, must lead 
Thy counsel to thy sister-friend ; 
And, Redmond, thou, at my behest, 
No farther urge thy desp'rate 'quest. 
For to my care a charge is left, 
DangVous to one of aid bereft. 
Well nigh an orphan, and alone. 
Captive her sire, her house o'erthrown." 
Wilfrid, with wonted kindness gi-ac'd. 
Beside her on the turf she plac'd ; 
Then paus'd, with downcast look and eye, 
Nor bade young Redmond seat him nigh, 
Her conscious diffidence he saw. 
Drew backward as in modest awe, 
And sat a little space remov'd, 
Unmark'd to gaze on her he lov'd. 



407 



496 BOREBT. CCANIVIV. 



V. 

Wreath'd in its dark-brown rings, her hair 

Half hid Matilda's forehead fair. 

Half hid and half reveal'd to view 

Her full dark eye of hazel hue. 

The rose, with faiut and feeble streak. 

So slightly tingM the maiden's cheek. 

That you had said her hue was pale ; 

But if she fac'd the summer gale, 

Or spoke, or sung, or quicker mov'd, 

Or heard the praise of those she lov'd, 

Or when of interest was expressed 

Aught that wak'd feeling in her breast, 

The mantling blood in ready play 

Rivaird the blush of rising day. 

There was a soft and pensive grace 

A cast of thought upon her face, 

That suited well the forehead high, 

The eyelash dark, and downcast eye; 

The mild expression spoke a mind 

In duty firm, composed, resigned; — 

'Tis that which Roman art has giv'o. 

To mark their maiden Queen oi' Heav' 

In hours of sport, that mood gave way 

To Fancy's light and frolic play ; 

And when the dance, or tale, or song. 

In harmless mirth sped time along. 

Full oft her doting sire would call 

His Maud the merriest of them alL 

But days of war, and civil crime, 

Allow'd but ill such festal time, 

And her soft pensiveness of brow 

Had deepen'd into sadness now. 

In Marston field licr father ta'en, 

Her friends dispers'd, brave Mortham slain, 

While ev'ry ill her soul foretold, 

From Oswald's thirst of pow'r and cold, 

And boding thoughts that she must part, 

With a soft vision of her heart, — 

All lower'd around the lovely maid, 

To darken her dejection's shade. 



CAKTO IV.J ROKEBT. 499 

VI. 
WTio has not heard — ^vrhile Erin yet 
Strove 'gainst the Saxon's iron bit — 
Who has not heard how brave O'Neale 
In English blood imbmed his steel, 
Against St George's cross blaz'd high 
The banners of his Tanistry, 
To fier}' Essex gave the foil, 
And reign'd a prince on Ulster's soil? 
But chief arose his victor pride. 
When that brave Marshal fought and died,* 
And Avon-Duif to ocean bore 
His billows red with Saxon gore. 
'Twas first in that disastrous tight, 
Rokeby and Mortham prov'd their might. 
There had they falFu among the rest, 
But pity touch'd a chieftain's breast; 
The Tanist be to great O'Neale ;+ 
He check'd his foU'wers' bloody zeal. 
To quarter took the kinsman bold, 
And bore them to his mountain-hold, 
Gave them each silvan joy to know, 
Slieve-Donard's cliifs and woods could show, 
Shai'd with them Erin's festal cheer, 
Show'd them the chase of wolf and deer. 
And, when a fitting time was come. 
Safe and unransom'd sent them home, 
Loaded with many a gift, to prove 
A gen'rous foe's respect and love. 

* The chief victory which Tyrone obtained over the Eng'llsb wat 
iu a battle fought near Blaokwater, wliile he besiegeil a fort 
garrisoned by tlie En^lisli, wliich commanded the passes into hi« 
country- He is said to liave entprtained a personal animosity 
against tJie Icni^lit-m^irshal, Sir Henry Bagnal, whom he ac- 
cused ot detaining the letters wliich he sent to Queen Elizabeth, 
explan;it'iry of liis conduct, and offerinir terms of submission. The 
river, called by the English, Black water, is termed in Irish, Avou- 
Duff, n-hich has ihe same signification. 

+ When an Irish chief died, it was not the eldest son who suc- 
ceeded to his aiithority, but a captain elected for the occasion | 
after whom the eldest son was generally nominated the Tanist, 
that is, the successor to the captain. The Tanist, therefore, of 
O'Neale, was the heir apparent of his power. This kind of suc- 
cession appears also to have regulated, in very remote times, the 
tuccession tu the cr<<wn of Scotland. It would have been impra- 
dent, if not impossible, to have asserted a minor's right of 8ucce«- 
»ion in those stormy days, when the priuotplea of policy were tb« 
mere impulses of seldxaaew auil noieuue. 



fiOO ROKEBV. CCAMTO IV 



Years speed away. On Kokeby's head 
Some touch of early snow was shed ; 
Calm he enjoy'd, by Greta's wave. 
The peace which James the Peaceful gav«^ 

While Moitham, far beyond the main, 
Wag'd his fierce wars ou Indian Spain. — 
It chanc'd upon a wintry night. 
That whiten d Stanmore's stormy height, 
The chase was o'er, the stag was kill'd, 
In Rokeby hall the cups were fiU'd, 
And by the huge stone chimney sate 
The Knight in hospitable state. 
Moonless the sky, the hour was late, 
When a loud summons shook the gate, 
And sore for entrance and for aid 
A voice of foreign accent pray'd. 
The porter answer'd to the call, 
And instant rush'd into the hall 
A Man, whose aspect and attire 
Startled the circle by the fire. 



His plaited hair in elf-locks spread* 

Around his bare and matted head ; 

On leg and thigh, close stretch'd and trim, 

His vesture show'd the sine%vy limb ; 

In saffron dyed, a linen vest 

Was frequent folded round his breast ; 

A mantle long and loose he wore. 

Shaggy with ice, and stain'd with gore, 

He clasp'd a burden to his heait, 

And, resting on a knotted dart. 

The snow from hair and beaid he shook. 

And round him gaz'd with wilder'd look. 

« It would seem, that the ancient Irish dress was (the boriiwt 
excepted) very similar to that of the Scnttish Highlanders. The 
want of H covering on t\ie heud was eupplied by tlie mode of plait- 
ing and arranifing their hair, wliirh was called ihn qtihbe Fliese 
glibbes, according to Spenser, were tit marks for a tliiet, gin^e, 
when he wisbvd to disguise hiuiseif. he could either cut it off er»- 
tirely, or so puU it orer hia eyes as to reuder it very hard to 
recoguise him. 



CANTO IV.3 KOltEBJr. 501 

Then up the hall, -writh stagg'nug pace 
He hasteii'd by the blaze to place. 
Half liieless from the bitter air, 
His load, a Boy of beauty rare. 
To Rokeby, next, he louted low, 
Then stood erect his tale to show, 
With wild majestic port and tone. 
Like envoy of some barb'rous throne.* 
"Sir Richard, Lord of Rokeby, hear! 
Turlough O'Neale salutes thee dear; 
He graces thee, and to thy care 
Young Redmond gives, his grandson fair. 
He bids thee breed him as thy son. 
For Turlough's days of joy are done; 
And other lords have seiz'd his land. 
And faint and feeble is his hand ; 
And all the glory of Tyrone 
Is like a morning vapour flown. 
To bind the duty on thy soul. 
He bids thee think on Erin's bowl ! 
If any wrong the young O'Neale, 
He bids thee think of Erin's steel. 
To Mortham first this charge was due, 
But, in his absence, honours you. — 
Now is my master s message by. 
And Ferraught will contented die." 

IX. 

His look grew fix'd, his cheek grew pale. 
He sunk when he had told his tale ; 
For, hid beneath his mantle wide, 
A mortal wound was in his side. 
Vain was all aid — in terror wild, 
And sorrow, scream'd the orphan Child. 
Poor Ferraught rais'd his wistful eyes. 
And faintly strove to soothe his cries ; 
All reckless of his dying pain. 
He blest, and blest him o'er again ! 
And kiss'd the little hands outspread. 
And kiss'd and croas'd the infant head. 

* The lii«h chieft. in their intercourse with the Engrlish, and 
»rith each other, were \70at to assume the language and ttfla of 
indepeadeut royalty. 



502 ROK.EBY. [CAirro it. 

And, in liis native tongue and phrase, 
Pray'd to each saint to watch his days ; 
Then all his strength together drew, 
The charge to Rokeby to renew. 
When half was falter d from his breast, 
And half by dying signs express'd, 
"• Bless thee, O'Neale !" he faintly said. 
And thus the faithful spirit fled. 



'Twas long ere soothing might prevail 
Upon the Child to end the tale : 
And then he said, that from his home 
His grandsire had been forc'd to roam. 
Which had not been if Redmond's hand 
Had but had strength to draw the brand, 
The brand of Lenaugh More the Red, 
That hung beside the grey wolfs head. — 
'Twas from his broken phrase descried, 
His foster-father was his guide,* 
Who, in his charge, from Ulster bore 
Letters, and gifts a goodly store ; 
But niffians met them in the wood, 
Ferraught in battle boldly stood, 
Till wounded and o'erpower'd at length, 
And stripp'd of all, his failing strength 
Just bore him here — and then the child 
Renew'd again his moaning wild. 



The tear, down childhood's cheek that fio^vi. 
Is like the dew-drop on the rose ; 
When next the summer breeze comes by, 
And waves the bush, the flower is dry. 
Won by their care, the orphan ChUd 
Soon on his new protector smil'd. 
With dimpled cheek and eye so fair. 
Through his thick curls of flaxen hair. 
But blithest laugh'd that cheek and eye, 
When Rokeby's little maid was nigh ; 

♦ There was no tie more lacred among the Iriah tlMW that wtllch 
connected the foster-father, ag well aa the nurse hefit-ll^ with tht 
child they brought ujw 



CANTO IVJ EOKEBT. 608 

•Twas his, Avith elder brother's priJe, 
Matilda's tottering steps to guiue ; 
His native lays in Irish tongue, 
To soothe her infant ear he sung, 
And primrose twin'd -with daisy fwr, 
f form a chaplet for her hair. 
By lawn, by grove, by brooklet's strand, 
The children still were hand and hand. 
And good Sir Richard smiling eyed 
The early knot so kindly tied. 

XII. 
But summer months bring wilding shoot 
From bud to bloom, from bloom to frolt; 
And years draw on our human spain. 
From child to boy, from boy to man; 
And soon in Rokeby's woods is seen 
A gallant boy in hunter's green. 
He loves to wake the felon boar. 
In his dark haunt on Greta's shore, 
And loves, against the deer so dun. 
To draw the shaft, or lift the gun : 
Yet more he loves, in autumn prime. 
The hazel's spreading boughs to climb, 
And down its cluster'd stores to hail. 
Where young Matilda holds her veil. 
And she, whose veil receives the shower, 
Is alter'd too, and knows her power ; 
Assumes a monitress's pride. 
Her Redmond's dang'rous sports to chidoj 
Yet listens still to hear him tell 
How the grim wild-boar fought and fell, 
How at his fall the bugle rung. 
Till rock and greenwood answer flung; 
Then blesses h"er, that man can find . 
A pastime of such savage kind .' 

XIII. 

But Redmond knew to weave his tale 
So well with praise of wood and dale. 
And knew so well each point to trace. 
Gives living int'rest to the chase, 
And knew so well o'er all to throw 
Ijljs Bpirit'g -wild romantic glow. 



504 ROKKBY. ICANTOIV. 

That, -while she blam'd, and while she feared. 

She lov'd each vent'rous tale she hfcurd. 

Oft, too, when drifted snow and ram 

To bow'r and hall their steps restrain. 

Together they explored the page 

Of glowing bard or gifted sage ; 

Oft piac'd the ev'ning lire beside, 

The minstrel art alternate tried, 

While gladsome harp and lively lay 

Bade winter night flit fast away : 

Thus from their childhood blending still 

Their sport, their study, and their skill. 

An union of the soul they prove. 

But must not think that it was love. 

But though they dar'd not, envious Fame 

Soon dar'd to give that union name ; 

And when so often, side by side, 

From year to year the pair she ey'd, 

She sometimes blam'd the good old Knight, 

As dull of ear and dim of sight. 

Sometime his purpose would declare, 

That young O'Neale should wed his heir. 



ITie suit of Wilfrid rent disguise 
And bandage from the lovers' eyes ; 
'Twas plain that Oswald, for his son, 
Had Rokeby's favour well nigh won. 
Now must they meet with change of 
With mutual looks of shame and fear; 
Now must Matilda stray apart. 
To school her disobedient heart : 
And Redmond now alone must rue 
The love he never can subdue. 
But factions rose, and Rokeby sware. 
No rebel's son should wed his heir; 
And Redmond, nurtur'd while a child 
In many a bard's traditions wild, 
Now sought the lonely wood or stream 
To cherish there a happier dream, . 
Of maiden won by sword or lance, 
As in the regions of romance ; 



CANTO IV.] ROKEBY. 605 

And count the heroes of his line, 
Great Nial of the Pledges Nine,* 
Shane- Dymasf wild, and Geraldine.ijr 
And Connan-more, who vow'd his race 
For ever to the fight and chase. 
And curs'd him, of his lineage bom. 
Should sheathe the sword to" reap the conif 
Or leave the mountain and the wold, 
To shroud himself in castled hold. 
From such examples hope he drew. 
And brighten'd as the trumpet blew. 

XV. 

If hrides were won by heart and blade, 
Redmond had both his cause to aid, 
And all beside of nurture rare 
That might beseem a baron's heir. 
Turlough O'Neale, in Erin's strife. 
On Rokeby's Lord bestow'd his life, 
And well did Rokeby's gen'rous Knight 
Young Redmond for the deed requite. 
Nor was his lib'i-al care and cost 
Upon the gallant stripling lost : 
Seek the North Riding broad and wide. 
Like Redmond none could steed bestride. 
From Tynemouth search to Cumberland, 
Like Redmond none could wield a brand; 
And then, of humour kind and free, 
And bearing him to each degree 
With frank and fearless courtesy. 
There never youth was form'd to steal 
Upon the heart like brave O'Neale. 

XVI. 

Sir Richard lov'd him as his son ; 
And when the days of peace were done, 

* Neal Naighvallach, or Of the Nine Hostages, is said to hav» 
been monarch of all Ireland, during the end of tlie fourth or be- 
ginuiag of the fifth century. 

+ This Shane-Dymas, or John the Wanton, held the title and 
poiTer of O'Neale in the earlier part of Elizabeth's reign, against 
whom he rebelled rppeatedly. 

I The O'Neals wtre closely allied with this powerful and war- 
like family. This Con- More cursed any of his posterity whoshoold 
la.-tm the Engli.sh lau^uaee, sow corn, or build houaei, »o as toil^ 
rtte the English to settle in their country, 

y 



506 ROKEBY. [canto 1 

And to the gales of war he gave 
The banner of his sires to wave, 
Redmond, distinguished by his care, 
He chose thai honour'd flag to bear. 
And natn'd his page, the next degree 
In that old time to chivalry.* 
In five pitch'd fields he well maintain'd 
The honour'd place his worth obtain'd, 
And high was Redmond's youthful muse 
Blaz'd in the roll of martial fame. 
Had fortune smil'd on Marston fight. 
The eve had seen him dubb d a knight; 
Twice, 'mid the battle's doubtful strife, 
Of Rokeby's Lord he saved the life. 
But when he saw him prisoner made. 
He kiss'd and then resigned his blade, 
And yielded him an easy prey 
To those who led the Knight away; 
Resolv'd Matilda's sire should prove. 
In prison, as in fight, his love. 



When lovers meet in adverse hour, 
'Tis like a sun-glimpse through a shower, 
A watery ray, an instant seen. 
The darkly closing clouds between. 
As Redmond on the turf recliu'd, 
The past and present filFd his mind : 
" It was not thus," Affection said. 



ny 
Not thus, when from thy trembling hand. 



" I dream'd of my return, dear maid ! 

I took the banner and the brand, 
When round me as the bugles blew. 
Their blades three hundred warriors drew. 
And, while the standard I unroll'd, 
Clash'd their bright arms, with clamour bold. 



« Originally, the order of chivalrv embraced three ranks i—l. 
The Pase; 2. The Squire; ». The Knight.— But, before the rei^ 
of Charles I,, the custom of serving as a squire had fallen into dis- 
use, though the ofiler of the page was still, to a certain degree, ia 
observance. This state of servitude was so far from inferring any 
thing degrading, that it was considered as the regular school m 
Hcquiriug every quality necessary for future distinctioot 



CANTO IV.] ROKEBY. 

Where is that banner now? — its pride 
Lies 'whelm'd in Ouse's sullen tide I 
Where now these warriors? — in their gOBe 
They cumber IMarston's dismal moor ; 
And what avails a useless brand. 
Held by a captive's shackled hand. 
That only would his life retain, 
To aid thy sire to bear his chain!* 
Thus Redmond to himself apart. ; 
Nor lighter was his rival's heart; 
For Wilfrid, while his gen'rous sonl 
Disdain'd to profit by control. 
By many a sign could mark too plain. 
Save with such aid, his hopes were 'vain.— 
But now Matilda's accents stole 
On the dark visions of their soul, 
And bade their mournful musing fly, 
Like mist before the zephyr's sigh, 

XVIII. 

" I need not to my friends recall. 
How Mortham shunn'd my father's hall; 
A man of silence and of woe, 
Yet ever .vixious to bestow 
On my poor self whate'er could prove 
A kinsman's confidence and love. 
My feeble aid could sometimes chase 
The clouds of sorrow for a space : 
But oft'ner, fix'd beyond my pow'r, 
I mark'd his deep despondence low'r. 
One dismal cause, by all unguess'd. 
His fearful confidence confess'd; • 

And twice it was my hap to see 
Examples of that agony. 
Which for a season can o'erstrain 
And wreck the structure of the brain. 
He had the awful pow'r to know 
Th' approaching mental overthrow. 
And while his mind had courage yet 
To struggle with the dreadful fit. ' 
The victim writh'd against its throes, 
Like wretch beneath a miu-d'rer's blcwi. 



fiOT 



608 ROKEBT. ICXSTO IT 

This malady, I ■well could mark, 
Sprung from some direful cause and dark ; 
But still he kept its source conceal d, 
Till arming for the civil (ield ; 
Then in my charge he bade me hold 
A treasure huge of gems and gold, 
With this disjointed dismal scroll, 
That tells the secret of his soul. 
In such wild words as oft betray 
A mind by anguish forc'd astray." 



MORTHAM S HISTORY. 

"Matilda! thou hast seen me start. 
As if a dagger thrill'd my heart, 
When it has happ'd some casual phrase 
Wak'd mem'ry of my foiTner days. 
Believe that few can backward cast 
Their thoughts with pleasure ou the past ; 
But I ! — my youth was rash and vain. 
And blood and rage my manhood stain. 
And my grey hairs must now descend 
To my cold grave without a friend ! 
E'en "thou, Matilda, wilt disown 
Thy kinsman, when his guilt is known. 
And must I lift the bloody veil. 
That hides my dark and fatal tale ! 
I must — I will — Pale phantom, cease! 
Leave me one little hour in peace ! 
Thus haunted, think' st thou I have skill, 
Thine own commission to fulfil? 
Or, while thou point'st with gesture fierce. 
Thy blighted" cheek, thy bloody hearse, 
How can 1 paint thee as thou wert, 
So fair in face, so warm in heart l— 

XX. 

" Yes, she was fair ! — Matilda, thou 
Hast a soft sadness on thy brow ; 
But hers was like the sunny glow. 
That laughs on earth and all below ! 
We wedded secret — there was ni 
Diffring in coimtry and in creed; 



CAirroiv.] ROKEBY. 509 

And when to Mortham's tow'r she came, 
We mention'd not her race and name. 
Until thy sire, who fought afar. 
Should turn him home from foreign war, 
On whose kind influence we relied 
To soothe her father's ire and pride. 
Few months we liv'd retir'd, unknown, 
To all but one dear friend alone. 
One darling friend — I spare his shame, 
I will not write the villain's name ! 
My trespasses I might forget. 
And sue in vengeance for the debt 
Due by a brother worm to me, 
Ungrateful to God's clemency. 
That spar'd me penitentiaJ time. 
Nor cut me off amid my crime. — 

XXI. 

" A kindly smile to all she lent. 

But on her husband's friend 'twas bent 

So kind, that from its harmless glee. 

The wretch misconsti-ued villany. 

Repuls'd in his presumptuous love, 

A 'vengeful snare the traitor wove. 

Alone we sat — the flask had How'd, 

My blood with heat unwonted glow'd, 

When through the alley'd walk we spied 

With hurried step my Edith glide, 

Cow'ring beneath the verdant screen, 

As cne unwilling to be seen. 

Words cannot paint the fiendish smile. 

That curl'd the traitor's cheek the while 

E'.iercely I question'd of the cause ; 

He made a cold and artful pause, 

Then pray'd it might not chafe my mood- 

' There was a gallant in the wood T — 

We had been shooting at the deer ; 

My cross-bow (evil chance !) was near : 

rhat ready weapon of my wrath 

I caught, and, hasting up the path. 

In the yew grove my wife I found, 

A stranger's arms her neck had bound ; 



510 ROKEBT. :CAKTO IV. 

I mark'd his heart — the bow I dre-w — 
I loos'd the shaft — 'twas more than tru«! 
I founH my Edith's dyicg (harms 
Lock'd in her murder'd brother's anna! 
He came in secret to inquiie 
Her state, and reconcile her sire. 

XXI t. 
" All fled my rage — ^the villain first, 
Whose craft my jealousy had nurs'd ; 
He sought in far aud foreign clime 
To 'scape the vengeance ot his crime. 
The manner of the slaughter done 
Was known to few, my guilt to none ; 
Some tale my faithful stew2,rd fram'd 
I know not what — of shaft mis-aim'd ; 
And ev'n from those the act who knew, 
He hid the hand from which it flew. 
Untouch'd by human laws I stood, 
But God had heard the cry of blood ! 
There is a blank upon my mind, 
A fearful vision ill-defin'd. 
Of raving till my flesh was torn, 
Of dungeon-bolts and fetters worn — 
And when I wak'd to woe more mild. 
And question'd of my infant child — 
(Have I not written, that she bare 
A boy, like simimer morning fair?) — 
With looks confus'd my menials teJl, 
That armed men in Mortham dell 
Beset the nurse's evening way, 
And bore her, with her charge away. 
My faithless friend, and none but he, 
Could profit by this villany ; 
Him then, I sought, with pui-pose dread 
Of treble vengeance on his head ! 
He 'scap'd me — but my bosom's wound 
Some faint relief from wand'ring found ; 
Aud over distant land and sea, 
I bore my load of misery. 

xxin. 
"'Twas then that fate my footsteps led 
Among a daring crew and d:read, 



Ca'TTO n'O ROKEBY. 

With whom full oft ray hated life, 

I ventur'd in such desp'rate strife, 

That e'en my fierce associates saw 

My fiantic deeds with doubt and awe. 

Much then 1 learn'd, and much can show. 

Of human guilt and human woe, 

Yet ne'er have, in my wand'rings, known 

A wretch, whose sorrows matched my own I — 

It chanc'd, that after battle fray, 

Upon tlie bloody field we lay ; 

The yellow moon her lustre shed 

Upon the wounded and the dead, 

While, sense in toil and wassail drown'd. 

My ruffian comrades slept around, 

There came a voice — its silver tone 

Was soft, Matilda, as thine own — 

' Ah, wretch !' it said, ' what mak'st thou hefBi 

While unaveng'd my bloody bier. 

While unprotected lives mine heir. 

Without a father's name and care ?' 

XXIV. 

** I heard— obey'd — and homeward drew; 

The fiercest of our desp'rate crew 

I brought at time of need to aid 

My purpos'd vengeance, long delay'd. 

But, humble be my thanks to Heav'n, 

That better hopes and thoughts has giv'n. 

And by our Lord's dear pray'r has taught, 

Mercy by mercy must be bought ! — 

let me in misery rejoice — 

I've seen his face — I've heard his voice — 

I claim'd of him my only child — 

As he disown'd the theft, he smil'dl 

That very calm and callous look, 

That fiendish sneer his visage took. 

As when he said, in scornful mood, 

' There is a gallant in the wood !' — 

I did not slay him as he stood — 

All praise be to my Maker giv'n I 

Long suff'rance is one path to haiv'n.*' 



511 



512 ROKEBY. [CAim> n 

XX7. 

Thus far the woeful tale was heard, 
AVheu something iu the thicket stinr'd. 
Up Redmoud sprung ; the villain Guy, 
(For he it was thatlurk'd so nigh,) 
Drew back — he durst not cross his steel 
A moment's space with brave O'Neale, 
For all the treasured gold that rests 
In Mortham's iron-banded chests. 
Redmond resum'd his seat — he said, 
Some roe was rustling in the shade. 
Bertram laugh'd grimly, when he saw 
His timVous comrade backward draw. 
" A trusty mate art thou, to fear 
A single arm, and aid so near ! 
Yet have I seen thee mark a deer. 
Give me my carabine — I'll show 
An art that thou wilt gladly know, 
How thou may'st safely quell a foe." 



) On hands and knees fierce Bertram drew 

The spreading birch and hazels through, 
I Till he had Redmond full in view ; 

I The gun he levell'd — Mark like this 

j Was Bertram never known to miss, 

j When fair oppos'd to aim there sate 

I An object of his mortal hate. 

j That day young Redmond's death had se« 

j But twice Matilda came between 

The carabine and Redmond's breast, 
Just ere the spring his finger press'd. 
A deadly oath the ruffian swore, 
But yet his fell design forbore : 
"• It ne'er," he mutter'd, " shall be said. 
That thus I scath'd thee, haughty maid f* 
Then mov'd to seek more open aim. 
When to his side Gruy Denzil came : 
" Bertram, forbear ! — we are undone 
For ever, if thou fire the gun. 
By all the fiends, an armed force 
Descends the dell, of foot and horse 



OAMTO IV.] ROKEBT. 

We perish if they hear a shot — 
Madinau ! we have a safer plot — 
Nay, friend, be nil d, and bear thee back! 
Behold, down yonder hollow track. 
The warlike leader of the band 
Comes, with his broadsword iu his hand." 
Bertram look'd up ; he saw, he knew 
That Denzil's fears had counsell'd true, 
Then curs'd his fortune and withdrew, 
Threaded the wood'iands uudescried, 
And gain'd the cave on Greta side. 

XXVII. 

They whom dark Bertram, in his wrath, 
Docm'd to captivity or death, 
Their thoughts to one sad subiect lent, 
Saw not nor heard the arabushment. 
Heedless and unconcem'd they sate, 
While on the very verge of fate ; 
Heedless and unconcem'd remain'd. 
When Heaven the murd'rer's arm restraia'd } 
As ships drift darkling down the tide. 
Nor see the shelves o'er which they glide. 

I Uninterrupted thus they heard 

j What Moitham's closing tale declar'd. 

He spoke of wealth as of a load, 
By Fortune on a wretch bestow' d. 
In bitter mockery of hate, 
His cureless woes to aggravate ; 
But yet he pray'd Matilda's car» 
Might save that treasure for his heir — • 
His Edith's son — for still he rav'd 
As confident his life was sav'd ; 
In frequent vision, he averr'd, 
He saw his face, his voice he heard. 
Then argued calm — had murder been, 

I j The blood, the corpses, had been seen ; 

I ! Some had pretended too, to mark 

On Windermere a stranger bark, 
Whose crew, with jealous care, yet mild. 
Guarded a female and a child. 
While these faint proofs he told and piOMiii 
Hope seem'd to kindle in his breast ; 
t2 



613 



514 ROKEBY. 

ITiough inconsistent, vague, and vaiii. 
It warp'd Lis judgment, and his braio. 



These solemn words his story close :— 
" Heav'n witness for me, that I chose 
My part in this sad civil fight, 
Mov d by no cause but England's right. 
My country's groans have bid me draw 
My sword for gospel and for law ; — 
These righted, I tling arms aside. 
And seek my son through Europe wide. 
My wealth, on which a kinsman nigh. 
Already casts a grasping eye, 
"With thee may unsuspected lie. 
When of my death Matilda hears. 
Let her retain her trust three years ; 
If none, from me, the treasure claim. 
Perish "d is Morthara's race and name. 
Then let it leave her gen'rous hand. 
And riow in bounty o er the laud ; 
Soften the wounded pris'ner's lot. 
Rebuild the peasant's ruind cot ; 
So spoils, acquir'd by fight afar. 
Shall mitigate domestic war." 

XXIX. 

The gen'rous youths, who well had knowi^ 

Of Mortham's mind the pow'rful tone, 

To that high mind, by sorrow swerv'di. 

Gave sympathy his woes deserv'd ; 

But Wilfrid chief, who saw reveal'd. 

Why Mortham wish'd his life conceal'd, 

In secret, doubtless, to pursue 

The schemes his wilder'd fancy drew. 

Thoughtful he heard Matilda tell, 

That she would share her father's cell. 

His partner of captivity, 

Where'er his prison house should be ; 

Yet griev'd to think that Rokeby-h»ll, 

Dismantled, and forsook by all, 

Open to rapine and to stealth, 

Had now no safe-guard for the wealth. 



CANTO IVO ROKEBT. 

Intnisted hj her kinsman kind, 

And for such noble use design'd, 

** Was Barnard CJastle then her choice," 

Willrid inquir'd with hasty voice, 

" Since there the victor's laws ordain. 

Her father must a space remain?" 

A flutter'd hope his accents shook, 

A flutter'd joy was in his look. 

Matilda hasten 'd to reply, 

For anger Hash'd in Redmond's eye ;— 

" Duty," she said, with gentle grace, 

" Kind Wilfrid, has no choice of pkice; 

Else had I for my sire assign'd 

Prison less galling to his mind. 

Than that his wild-wood haunts which •€,.-, 

And hears the rauraiur of the Tees, 

Recalling thus, with ev'ry glance. 

What captive's sorrow can enhance; 

But where those woes are highest, there 

Needs Rokeby most his daughter s care." 

XXX. 

He felt the kindly check she gave. 

And stood abash'd — then answer'd grave :— 

" I sought thy purpose, noble maid. 

Thy doubts to clear, thy schemes to aid. 

I have beneath mine ovm command, 

So wills my sire, a gallant band. 

And well could send some horseman wight, 

To bear the treasure forth by night, 

And so bestow it as you deem 

In these ill days may safest seem." — 

" Thanks, gentle Wilfrid, thanks," she said S 

" O, be it not one day delay'd ! 

And. more thy sister-friend to aid. 

Be thou thyself content to hold. 

In thine own keeping, Mortham's gold, 

Safest with thee." — While thus she spoke, 

Arm'd soldiers on their converse broke. 

The same of whose approach afraid. 

The ruffians left their ambuscade. 

Their chief to W^ilfrid bended lo-vr. 

Then look'd around as for a foe. 



61 



516 ROKEBY. .CANTO Y 

*' What mean'st thou, friend," young Wvcliffe said 

"Why thus in arms beset the glade?" 

" That would I gladly learn from you. 

For up my squadron as I drew» 

To exercise our martial game 

Upon the moor of Barninghame, 

A stranger told you were waylaid. 

Surrounded, and to death betray' <L 

He had a leader's voice, I ween, 

A falcon glance, a warrior's mien. 

He bade me bring you instant aid; 

I doubted not, and'l obey'd." 



Wilfrid chang'd colour, and amaz'd, 
Turn'd short, and on the speaker gaz'd ; 
While Redmond ev'ry thicket round 
Track'd earnest as a questing hound, 
And Denzil's carabine he found ; 
Sure evidence, by which they knew 
The warning was as kind as tnie. 
Wisest it seem'd, with cautious speed 
To leave the dell. It was agreed, 
That Redmond, with Matilda fair, 
And fitting guard, should home repair ; 
At nightfall Wilfrid should attend. 
With a strong band, his sister- friend, 
To bear with her from Rokeby's bowers 
To Barnard Castle's lofty towers. 
Secret and safe the banded chests. 
In which the wealth of Mortham rests. 
This hasty purpose tix'd, they part. 
Each with a gi-iev'd and anxious heart. 



CANTO FIFTH. 

Tee sultry summer day is done, 
The western hills have hid the sun. 
But mountain peak and village spim. 
Retain reflection of his fire. 




ij,d. \•n^■^u^v,^^^ iourrw arc |nii-i.,Lt 
Mb tlio.se Ural ^n-.;e ihim 'IbllrT-iiUl; 
]ris-laiil and liioli, ttje tower dl' Bo wo 
i.n^c steel upoTL ihe anvil tflows-. 



CAIfTO v.] ROKEBY. 61 • 

Old Barnard's tow'rs are purple still. 
To those that gaze from Toller-hill ; 
Distant and high, the tow'r of Bowes 
Like steel upon the anvil glows ; 
And Stanmore's ridge, behind that laj. 
Rich with the spoils of parting day. 
In crimson and in gold array' d, 
Streaks yet a while the closing shade. 
Then slow resigns to dark'ning heaven 
The tints which brighter hours had given. 
Thus aged men, full loath and slow, 
The vanities of life forego, 
And count their youthful follies o'er, 
rill Mem'ry lends her light no more, 

II. 

The eve, that slow on upland fades, 
Has darker clos'd on Rokeby's glades, 
Where sunk within their banks profound, 
Her guardian streams to meeting wound. 
The stately oaks, whose sombre fro^vn 
Of noontide made a twilight broAvn, 
Impervious now to fainter light, 
Of twilight make an early night. 
Hoarse into middle air arose 
The vespers of the roosting crows, 
And with congenial murmurs seem 
To wake the Genii of the stream ; 
Far louder clamoar'd Greta's tide, 
And Tees in deeper voice replied, 
And fitful wak'd the evening wind, 
Fitful in sighs its breath resign'd. 
Wilfrid, whose fancy-nurtur'd soul 
Felt in the scene a soft control, 
V\'ith lighter footstep press'd the ground 
And often paus'd to look around ; 
And though his path was to his love, 
Could not but linger in the grove, 
To drink the thrilling int'rest dear, 
Of a^vful pleasure check'd by fear. 
Such inconsistent moods have we, 
E'en when our passions strike the key. 



518 ROKEBY. [CANTO ▼. 

Ill, 
Now, through the wood's dark mazes past. 
The op'ning lawn he reach'd at last, 
Where, silver d hy the moonlight ray. 
The ancient Hall before him lay. 
Those martial terrors long were fled, 
That frown'd of old around its head : 
The battlements, the turrets grey, 
Seem'd half abandon'd to decay ; 
On barbican and keep of stone 
Stern Time the foeman's work had done. 
"Where banners the invader brav'd. 
The harebell now and wallflower wav'd : 
In the rude guard-room, where of yore 
Their weary hours the warders wore, 
Kow, while the cheerful fagots blaze. 
On the pav'd floor the spindle plays ; 

! The flanking guns dismounted lie, 

The moat is niinous and diy, 

j The grim portcullis gone — and all 

The fortress turn'd to peaceful Hall. 

IV. 

But yet precautions, lately ta'en, 

Show'd danger's day reviv'd again ; 

The court-yard wall show'd marks of care, 

The fall'n defences to repair. 

Lending such strength as might withstand 

The insult of marauding band. 

The beams once more were taught to bear 

The trembling drawbridge into air. 

And not, till questioned o'er and o'er. 

For Wilfrid oped the jealous dooT ; 

And when he enter'd, bolt and bar 

Resum'd their place with sullen jar; 

Then, as he cross'd the vaulted porch. 

The old grey porter rais'd his torch. 

And view'd him o'er, from foot to head. 

Ere to the hall his steps he led. 

That huge old hall, of knightly state, 

Dismantled seem'd and desolate. 

The moon through transom-shafts of stoo^ 

Which cross'd the lattic'd oriels, shone, 





CANTO VO - ROKEBY. -510 




And by the mournful light sho gave, ' 
The (jothic vault seem d funeral cave. } 






Pennon and banner wav'd no more j 




O'er beams of stag and tusks of boar, i 




Nor glimmering arms \N-ere marshaU'd seeoQ, I 




To glance those silvan spoils between. | 




Those arms, those ensigns, borne away, j 




Accomplish d Rokeby's brave array, ! 




But all were lost on Marston's day ! t 




Yet here and there the moonbeams fall 




Where armour yet adorns the wall, I 




Cumbrous of size, uncouth to sight, j 




And useless iu the modem tight ! I 




Like vet' ran relic of the wars, j 




Known only by neglected scars. j 




^- i 
Matilda soon to greet him came, j | 




And bade them light the evening flams : j 
Said, all for parting was prepar'd, I 






And tarried but for Wilfrid's guard. j 




But then, reluctant to unfold 1 




His father's avarice of gold, i 1 
He hinted, that lest jealous eye | j 






Should on their precious burden pty. 




He judg'd it best the castle gate j 




To enter when the night wore late ; 




And therefore he had left command 




With those he trusted of liis band, 




That they should be at Rokeby met, i 
What time the midnight- watch was set. i 






Now lledmond came, whose anxious caio 




Till then was busied to prepare 




Ail needful, meetly to arrange 




The mansion for its mournful change. " I 




With Wilfrid's care and kindness pleaB*d, j 




His cold unready hand he seiz d, | 




And press'd it, till his kindly strain, j 
The gentle youth return' d again. ! 






Seem'd as between them this was said, i 




"A while let jealousy be dead ; 1 




And let our contest be, whose care j 




Shall best assist this helpless fair." j 

1 
1 

1 

i 



5^10. 



: CANTO T 



There was no speech the truce to bind, 

It was a compact of the mind. 

A gen'rous thought, at once impress'd 

On either rival's geu'rous breast. 

Matilda well the secret took, 

From sudden change of mien and look; 

And — for not small had been her fear 

Of jealous ire and danger near — 

Felt, ev'n in her dejected state, 

A joy beyond the reach of late. 

They clos'd beside the chimney's blaze, 

And talk'd, and hop'd for happier days. 

And lent their spirits' rising glow 

A while to gild impending woe ; 

High privilege of youthful time. 

Worth all the pleasures of our prime ! 

The bick'ring fagot sparkl'd bright, 

And gave the scene of love to sight. 

Bade Wilfrid's cheek more lively glow, 

Play'n on Matilda's neck of snow. 

Her nut-brown curls and forehead high, 

And laugh'd in Redmond's azure eye. 

Two lovers by the maiden sate, 

Without a glance of jealous hate; 

The maid her lovers sat between, 

With open brow and ecjual mien; — 

It is a sight but rarely spied, 

Thanks to man's wrath and woman's pride. 

Til. 
While thus in peaceful guise they sate, 
A knock alarm'd the outer gate. 
And ere the taidy poiler stin'd, 
The tinkling of a harp was heard. 
A manly voice of mellow swell, 
Bore burden to the music well. 

SONG. 
"■ Summer eve is gone and past. 
Summer dew is failing fast; 
I have wander'd all the day. 
Do not bid me farther stray ! 



CANTO V.J ROKEBT. 

Gentle heai-ts, of gentle kin. 
Take the wand'rmg harper in f* 

But the stern porter answer gave, 

With " Get thee hence, thou strolling kiUTs! 

The king wants soldiers ; war, I trow, 

Were meeter trade for such as thou." 

At this unkind reproof, again 

Answer'd the ready Minstrel's strain. 

SONG — resumed. 

" Bid not me, in battle-field. 
Buckler lift, or broadsword wield ! 
All my strength and all my art 
Is to touch the gentle heart, 
With the wizard notes that ring 
From the peaceful minstrel-string.'* — 

The porter, all unmov'd, replied, — ^ 
Depart in peace, with Heav'n to guide ; 
If longer by the gate thou dwell, 
Trust me, thou ehalt not part so weU." 



With somewhat of appealing look, 
The harper's part^oung Wilfrid took: 
" These notes so wild and ready thrill, 
They show no vulgar minstrel's skill ; 
Hard were his task to seek a home 
More distant, since the night is come ; 
And for his faith I dare engage — 
Your Harpool's blood is sour'd by age; 
His gate, once readily display' d, 
To greet the friend, the poor to aid, 
Now e'en to me, though known of old. 
Did but reluctantly unfold." — 
" O blame not, as poor Harpool's crimej 
An e\-il of this evil time. 
He deems dependent on his care. 
The safety of his patron's heir, 
Nor judges meet to ope the tow*r 
To guest unknown at parting hour, 



521 



522 KOKKBY. tCAWTO V 

Urging liis duty to excess 

Of lough and stubborn faithfulness. 

For this poor harper, I would fain 

He may relax : — Hark to his strain T— 

IX. 

SONG — resumed. 
•* I have son^ of war for kuight, 
I^ay of love for lady bright, 
Fairy tale to lull the heir. 
Goblin glim the maids to scare. 
Dark the night, and long till day, 
Do not bid me farther stray ! 

" Rokeby's lords of martial fame, 
I can count them name by name; 
Legends of their line there be, 
Known to few, but known to me ; 
If 3'ou honour Rokeby's kin, 
Take the wand'ring harper in ! 

" Rokeby's lords had fair regard 
For the harp, and for the bard ; 
Baron's race throve never well, 
Where the curse of minstrel fell. 
If you love that noble kin. 
Take the weary harper in !" — 

*'IIark ! Harpool parleys — there is hope.** 
Said Redmond, "• that the gate will ope. — 
— " For all thy brag and boa&t, I trow, 
Nought know'st thou of the Felon Sow,** 
Quoth Harpool, " nor how Greta-side 
She roam'd, and Rokeby forest wide ; 
Nor how Ralph Rokeby gave the beast 
To Richmond's friars to make a feast. 
Of Gilbert Griffinson the tale 
Goes, and of gallant Peter Dale, 
That well could strike with sword amain, 
And of the valiant son of Spain, 
Friar Middleton, and blithe Sir Ralph; 
There were a jest to make us laugh! 
If thou canst tell it in yon shade 
Thou'^t won thy supper and thy bed." 



CANTO v.] ROKEBY. 523 



Matilda smil'd ; "Cold hope," said she, 
" From Harpcol's love of minstrelsy 1 
But, for this harper, may we dare, 
Redmond, to mend his couch and fare?^— 
— '* O, ask not me ! — At minstrel-string 
My heart from infancy would spring ; 
Mor can I hear its simplest strain, 
But it brings Erin's dream again. 
When plac'd by Owen Lysagh's knee, 
(The Filea of O'Neale was he,* 
A blind and bearded man, whose eld 
Was sacred as a prophet's held,) 
I've seen a ring of rugged kerne, 
With aspect shaggy, wild and stem. 
Enchanted by the master s lay. 
Linger around the livelong day, 
Shift from wild rage to wilder glee, 
To love, to grief, to ecstasy. 
And feel each varied change of soul 
Obedient to the bard's control. — 
Ah, Clandeboy ! thy friendly floor 
Sheve-Donard's oak shall light no moreyt 
Nor Owen's harp, beside the blaze. 
Tell maiden's love, or hero's praise ! 
The mantling brambles hide thy hearth. 
Centre of hospitable mirth ; 
-Vll undistinguish'd in the glade. 
My sires' glad home is prostrate laid. 
Their vassals wander wide and far, 
Serve foreign lords in distant war, 
.Vnd now the stranger's sons enjoy 
The lovely woods of Clandeboy !' 
He spoke, and proudly turn'd aside, 
The starting tear to dry and hide. 



• The FUea, or OUamh Re Dan, was tbe proper bard, or, as tha 
name literaMy implies, poet. Kach chipftaiii of distinction had one 
or iiioie in his service, wht.se office was usually hereditary. 

■♦ ClaiiJeboy is a distnet ot" Ul.-.ter, formerly possessed by th» 
lept of the O'Neitles, and Slieve-Douard, a romantic inouulaiu ia 
tke Hame province. The clan wag mined after Tyrone's great t9> 
beUiou, aad their places of abode laiO desolate. 



524 aOKEBT. tCANTO iL 



Matilda's dark and soften'd eye 

Was glist'ning ere O'Neale's was dry. 

Her hand upon his arm she laid, — 

" It is the will of heav'n," she said. 

" And think'st thou, Redmond, I can part 

From this lov'd home with lightsome heart. 

Leaving to wild neglect whate'er 

Ev'n from my infancy was dear? 

"For in this calm domestic bound 

Were all Matilda's pleasures found. 

That hearth, my sire was wont to grace, 

Full soon may be a stranger's place ; 

This hall, in which a child I play'd, 

Like thine, dear Redmond, lowly laid. 

The bramble and the thorn may braid ; 

Or, pass'd for aye from me and mine, 

It ne'er may shelter Rokeby's line. 

Yet is this consolation giv'n, 

My Redmond, — 'tis the will of heav'n.** 

Her word, her action, and her phrase 

Were kindly as in early days ; 

For cold reserve had lost its pow'r, 

In sorrow's sympathetic hour. 

Young Redmond dar'd not trust his Toioe 

But rather had it been his choice 

To share that melancholy hour, 

Than, arm'd with all a chieftain's pow*r, 

In full possession to enjoy 

Slieve-Donard wide, and Clandeboy. 

XII. 
The blood left Wilfrid's ashen cheek ; 
Matilda sees, and hastes to speak. — 
" Happy in friendship's ready aid. 
Let all my murmurs here be staid ! 
And Rokeby's Maiden will not part 
From Rokeby's hall with moody heatf. 
This night at least, for Rokeby's fame. 
The hospitable hearth shall flame, 
And, ere its native heir retire. 
Find for the wand'rer rest and fire, 



CANTO v.] 



B0KBB7. 52ft 



While this poor harper, by the blaze, 

Recounts the tale of other days, 

Bid Harpool ope the door with speed, 

Admit him, and relieve each need. — 

Meantime, kind Wyclift'e, wilt thou try 

Thy minstrel skill? — Nay, no reply — 

And look not sad ! — I guess thy thought, 

Tuy verse with laurels would be bought ; 

And poor Matilda, landless now. 

Has not a garland for thy brow. 

True, I must leave sweet Rokeby'a gladea, 

Nor wander more in Greta shades ; 

But sure, no rigid jailer, thou 

Wilt a short prison-walk allow, 

Where summer flow'rs grow wild at "will. 

On Marwood-chase and TuUer Hill; 

Then holly green and lily gay 

Shall twine in guerdon of thy lay." 

The mournful yout h, a space aside, 

To tune Matilda's harp applied ; 

And then a low sad descant rung, 

As prelude to the lay he sung. 

XIII. 
SONG. 
Tbk Cypress Wreath. 
O, Lady, twine no wreath for me, 
Or twine it of the cypress-tree ! 
Too lively glow the lilies light, 
The varnish d holly's all too bright. 
The May-flow'r and the eglantine 
May shade a brow less sad than mine; 
But, Lady, weave no wreath for me, 
Or weave it of the cypress-tree I 

Let dimpl'd Mirth his temples twin* 
With tendrils of the laughing vine ; 
The manly oak, the pensive yew. 
To patriot and to sage be due ; 
The myrtle bough bids lovers live, 
But that Matilda will not give ; 
Then, Lady, twine no wTeath for me^ 
Or twine it of the cypress-tree I 



526 ROKF.BY. I CANTO ▼, 

Let merry England proudly rear 
• Her blended roses, bought so dear : 
Let Albin bind her bonnet blu3 _ 
With heath and harebell dipp"d in dow; 
On favoured Erin's crest be seen 
The flow'r she loves of em'rald green — 
But, Lady, twine no wreath for me, 
Or twine it of the cypress- tree. 

Strike the ^s-ild hai-p, while maids prepare 
The ivy meet for mmstrel's hair ; 
And, while his crown of laurel-leaves 
With bloody hand the victor weaves, 
Let the loud trump his triumph tell ; 
But when you hear the passing bell, 
Then, Lady, twine a wreath for me. 
And twine it of the cypress-tree. 

Yes ! twine tor me the cypress bougb; 
But, O Matilda, twine not now ' 
Stay till a few brief months are past. 
And I have look'd and lov'd my last! 
When villagers my shroud bestrew 
With panzies, rosemar}', and rue, — 
ITien, l^dy, weave a wreath for me, 
And weave it of the cypress-tree. 

XIV. 

O'Neale observ'd the starting tear, 

And spoke with kind and blithesome cheer 

" No, noble Wilfrid ! ere the day 

When mourns the land thy silent lay, 

Shall many a wreath be freely wove 

By hand of friendship and of love. 

I would not wish that rigid Fate 

Had doom'd thee to a captive s state, 

Whose hands are bound by honour's law, 

"Who wears a sword he must not draw; 

But were it so, in minstrel pride 

The land together would we ride. 

On prancing steeds, like harjiers old, 

Bound foi' the halls of barons bold, 

Each lover of the lyre we'd seek, 

From Michael's Mount to Skiddaw'a Peak, 



CANTO v.] KUKEBY. 527 

Survey wild Albin's mountain strand. 
And roam green Erin's lovely land, 
While thou the gentler souls should move, 
With lay of pity and ot love, 
And I, thy mate, in rougher strain. 
Would sing of war and warriors slain. 
Old England's bards were vanquish'd then, 
And Scotland's vaunted Hawthornden, 
And, silenc'd on lemian shore, 
M'Curtin's harp should charm no more I"* 
In lively mood he spoke, to wile 
From. Wilfrid's woe-woru cheek a smile. 



XV. 

•* But," said Matilda, " ere thy name. 

Good Redmond, gain its destin'd fame, 

Say, wilt thou kindly deign to call 

Thy brother-minstrel to the hall? 

Bid all the household, too, attend, 

Each in his rank a humble friend ; 

I know their faithful hearts will grieve, 

When their poor Mistress takes her leave; 

Salet the horn and beaker flow 

To mitigate their parting woe." 

The harper came ; — in youth's first prime 

Himself; in mode of olden time 

His garb was fashion'd, to express 

The ancient English minstrel's dresg, 

A seemly gown of Kendal green, 

With gorget clos'd of silver sheen ; 

His harp in silken scarf was slung, 

And by his side an anlace hung. 

It seem'd some masquer's quaint array. 

For revel or for holiday. 

XVI. 

He made obeisance with a free 

Vet studied air of courtesy. 

Each look aiKl accent, fram'd to please, 

Seem'd to affect a playful ease ; 

* :*TacCurtin, hereditary 011an\h of North Mnnster, «ttd File* 
to Donough, Earl oi TUouioud aud Presideut of Muuster. 



623 ROKEBV. LCAMX) K 

His face was of that doubtful kind, 
That wins the eye, but not the raind; 
Yet harsh it seem'd to deem amiss 
Of brow so young and smooth as this. 
His was the subtle look and sly, 
That, spying all, seems :nought to spy : 
Round all the group his glances stole, 
Unmark'd themselves, to mark the wholly 
Yet sunk beneath Matilda's look. 
Nor could the eye of Redmond brook. 
To the suspicious, or the old. 
Subtle and dangerous and bold 
Had seem'd this self-invited guest ; 
But young our lovers, — and the rest, 
Wrapt in their sorrow and their fear 
At parting of their Mistress dear, 
Tear-blinded to the Castle-hall, 
Came as to bear her funeral pall. 

XVII. 

All that expression base was gone. 

When wak'd the guest his minstrel tone ; 

It fled at inspiration's call, % 

As erst the demon fled from Saul. 

More noble glance he oist around, 

More free-drawTi breath inspir'd the sound, 

His pulse beat bolder and more high, 

In all the pride of minstrelsy ! 

Alas ! too soon that pride was o'er. 

Sunk with the lay that bade it soar ! 

His soul resum'd, with habit's chain, 

Its vices wild and follies vain. 

And gave the talent, with him bom, 

To be a common curse and scorn. 

Such was the youth whom Rokeby'a M&idj 

With condescending kindness, pray'ti 

Here to renew the strain she lov'd. 

At distance heard and well approv d. 



C.VNTO VO ROKEBT. 529 

XVIII. 



Tmc Habf. 
I vras a wild and -wayward boy. 
My childhood scorn'd each childish toy ; 
Retir d frotn all, reserv'd and coy. 

To musing prone, 
I woo'd my solitary joy, 

My harp alone. 

My youth, with bold Ambition's mood, 
Despis'd the humble stream and wood. 
Where my poor father's cottage stood. 

To fame unknown ; — 
What should my soaring views make good? 

My harp alone ! 

Love came with all his frantic fire, 
And wild romance of vain desire : 
The barons daughter heard my lyre, 

And prais'd the tone; — 
What could presumptuous hope inspire? 

My harp alone ! 

At manhood's touch the bubble burst. 
And manhood's pride the vision curst, 
And all that had my folly nurs'd 

Love's sway to own ; 
Yet spar'd the spell that lulFd me first. 

My harp alone ! 

Woe came with war, and want witli wo*; 
And it was mine to undergo 
Each outrage of the rebel foe : — 

Can aught atone 
My fields laid waste, my cot laid low P 

My harp alone ! 

Ambition's dreams Fve seen depart. 
Have rued of penury the smart. 
Have felt of love the venom'd ditrt, 

TVTien hope was flown ; 
Yet rests one solace to my heart, — 

My harp alone ! 
z 



530 ROKEBir. LCAsrro V. 

Tlien over niountafn, moor, and hill. 
My faithful Harp, I'll bear thee still, 
And when this life of want and ill 

Is well nigh gone. 
Thy strings mine elegy shall thriJ], 

My Haip alone ! 

XIX. 
" A pleasing lay f Matilda said ; 
But Harpool shook his old grey head. 
And took his baton and his torch. 
To seek his guard-room in the porch. 
Edmund observed — with sudden change; 
Among the strings his fingers range, 
Until they w^akd a bolder glee 
Of military melody ; 
Then paus'd amid the martial sound, 
And look'd with well-feign'd fear around; 
" None to this noble house belong," 
He said, " that would a Minstrel wron?. 
Whose fate has been, through good and ill, 
To love his Royal Master still ; 
And, with your honour'd leave, would fain 
Rejoice you with a loyal strain." 
Then, as assured by sign and look, 
The warlike tone again he took ; 
And Harpool stopp'd, and turn'd to hear 
A ditty of the Cavalier. 



S05Q. 
Tub Cavalier. 

While the dawn on the mountain was misty and grey. 
My true lovo lias mounted his steed and away. 
Over hill, over valley, o'er dale, and o'er down; 
Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights for tlie 
Crown! 

He has doff'd the silk doublet the breast-plate to bear, 
He has placed the steel-cap o'er his long Howing hair. 
From his belt to his stirrup his broadsword hangs 

down. — 
Heaven shield the brave Qallaut that fights for iho 

Crown! 



CANTO VO 



631 



Fertile rights of fair Endancl tliattroadsM^ord he drawg. 
Her King is his loader, her Church is his cause ; 
His watchword is honour, his pay is renown, — 
God strike with the Gallant that strikes forthe Crown. 

Tlie; may hoast of their Fairfax, their Waller, and all 
The round headed rebels of Westminstei Hall ; 
But tell thete bold traitors of London's i)roud tffWTi, 
That the spears of the North have encircled the Crown, 

There's Derby and Cavendish, diead of their foes. 
There's Erin's high Ormond, and Scotland's Montrose! 
Would vou match the base Skippon, and Massey, and 

Brown, 
"VMth the Barons of England, that fight for the Crowial 

Now joy to the crest of the brave Cavalier ! 
Be his banner unconquer'd, resistless his spear. 
Till in peace and in triumph his toils he may df-own, 
Inapledge to fair England, her Church, and her Crown, 

XXI. 
" Alas !" Matilda said, " that strain, 
Good harper, now Is heard in vain ! 
Tlie time has been, at such a sound. 
When Rokeby's vassals gather'd round. 
An hundred manly hearts would bound ; 
But now, the stirring verse we hear, 
Like tnmip in dying soldiers earl 
Listless and sad the notes we own. 
The pow'r to answer them is flown. 
Yet not without his meet applaose 
Be he that sings the rightful cause, 
Ev'n when the crisis of its fate 
To human eve seems desperate. 
While Rokeby's Heir such pow'r rettdns, 
Let this slight guerdon pay thy pains : — 
And, lend thy harp ; I fain would txj, 
If my poor skill can aught supply, 
Ere yet I leave my fathers' hall, 
To mourn the cause in which we fiilL" 

XXII. 
The harper, with a downcast look. 
And fxembliug hand, her bounty took.— 



532 ROKEisY. 

As yet, the conscious pride of art 
Had steel'd him in his treach'rous part t 
A pow'rful spring, of force unguess'd. 
That hath each gentler mood suppress'd. 
And reign'd in many a human breast; 
From his that plans the red campaign. 
To his that wastes the woodland reigiu 
The failing wing, the blood-shot eye, — 
The sportsman marks with apathy, 
Each feeling of his victim's ill 
Drown'd in his own successful skill. 
The vet'ran, too, Y/ho now no more 
Aspires to head the battle s roar, 
Loves still the triumph of his art, 
And traces on the pencill'd chart 
Some stem invader's destin'd way. 
Through blood and ruin to his prey ; 
Patriots to death, and towns to flame 
He dooms, to raise another's name. 
And shares the guilt, though not the fame. 
NN'hat pays him for his span of time 
Spent in premeditated crime ? 
^VTiat against pity arms his heart ?- • 
It is the conscious pride of art. 

XXIII. 

But principles in Edmund's mind 
AVere baseless, vague, and undefined. 
His soul, like bark with rudder lost, 
On Passion's changeful tide was tost ; 
Nor Vice nor Virtue had the pow'r 
Beyond th' impression of the hour: 
And, O ! when Passion rules, bow rare 
The hours that fall to Virtue's share ! 
Yet now she rous'd her — ^for the pride, 
That lack of sterner guilt supplied, 
Could scare* support him when arose 
The lay that moum'd Matilda's woes. 



The sound of Rokeby's woods I hear. 
They mingle with the song : 



CCANTO V 



CANTO V.J ROKKBT. 

Dark Greta's voice is in mine ear, 

I must not hear them long. 
From ev'ry lov'd and native haunt 

The native Heir must stray, 
And, like a ghost whom sunbeams dAuut, 

Must part before the day. 

Soon from the halls my fathers rear'd. 

Their scutcheons may descend. 
A line so long belov'd and fear'd 

May soon obscurely end. 
No longer here Matilda's tone 

Shall bid these echoes swell; 
Yet shall they hear her proudly own 

The cause in which we fell. 

The Lady paus'd, and then again 
Resum"d the lay in loftier strain. 

XXVI. 

Let our halls and tow'rs decay. 

Be our name and line forgot, 
Lands and manors pass a'way, — 

We but share our Monarch's lot. 
If no more our annals show 

Battles won and banners taken. 
Still in death, defeat, and woe, 

Ours be loyalty unshaken 1 

Constant still in danger's hour, 

Princes own'd our fathers' aid ; 
Lands and honours, wealth and pow'T, 

Well their loyalty repaid. 
Perish wealth, and pow'r, and pride ! 

Mortal boons by mortals given 5 
But let Constancy abide, — 

Constancy's the gift of Heaven. 

XXV. 

While thus Matilda's lay was heard, 
A thousand thoughts in Edmund stiir'di 
In peasant life he might have known 
As fair a face, as sweet a tone ; 
But village notes coxild ne'er supply 
Thast rich and vaiied melody, 



533 



534 HOKEBY. ICAXOTOT. 

And we'er m cottasre-maid was seen 
The easy dignity ol mien. 
Claiming respect, yet waving state. 
That marks the daughters of the great, 
Yet not, perchance, had these alone 
His scheme of purpos'd gnilt o'erthroim. 
But while her energy of mind 
Superior rose to griefs combin''d. 
Lending its kindling to her eye, 
(Jiving her form new majesty, — 
To Edmund's thought Matilda seem'd 
The very object he had dream' d ; 
When, long ere guilt his soul had knQ'wn, 
In Winston bow'rs he mus'd alone. 
Taxing his fancy to combine 
The face, the air, the voice divine, 
Of princess fair, by cruel fate 
Reft of her honours, pow'r, and state, 
Till to her rightful realm restor'd 
By destin'd hero's coniiuring sword. 



"Such was my vision !" Edmund thought; 

" And have I, then, the ruin wrought 

Of such a maid, that fancy ne'er 

In fairest vision form'd her peer? 

Was it my hand that could unclose 

The postern to her ruthless foes ? 

Foes, lost to honour, law, and faith, 

Their kindest mercy sudden death ! 

Have I done this ? I ! who have swore. 

That if the globe such angel bore, 

I would have trac'd its circle broad, 

To kiss the ground on which she trode !— 

And now — O ! would that earth would riva, 

And close upon me while alive ! — 

Is there no hope ? Is all then lost? — 

Bertram's already on his post ! 

Ev'n now, beside the Hall's arch'd doof, * 

I saw his shadow cross the floor I 

He was to wait my signal strain 

A little respite tLuu we gain: 



OAKTO V.3 rokebt. 

By what I heard the menials say, 

Young Wyclilfe's troop are on their W'fty — 

Alarm precipitates the crime ! 

My harp must wear away the time." — • 

And then, in accents faint and low. 

He falter'd forth a tale of woe. 

XXYII. 
BALLAD. 
*• And whither would you lead me, then f 

Quoth the Friar of orders grey ; 

And the Ruffians twain replied again, 

"■ By a dying woman to pray." — 

" I see," he said, " a lovely sight, 

A sight bodes little harm, 
A lady as a lily bright, 

With an inlant on her arm." — 

" Then do thine office. Friar grey. 
And see thou shrive her free ! 

Rise shall the sprite, that parts to-night, 
Fling all its guilt on thee. 

" Let mass he said, and trentals read, 
When thou'rt to convent gone, 

And bid the bell of St Benedict 
Toll out its deepest tone.'* 

The shrift is done, the Friar is gone. 

Blindfolded as he came — 
Next morning, all in Littlecot Hall 

Were weeping for their dame. 

Wild Darrell is an alter'd man, 

The village crones can tell ; 
He looks pale as cfay, and strives to pnqr. 

If he hears the convent bell. 

If prince or peer cross Darrell's way, 
He'll beard him in his pride— 

If he meet a Friar of orders grey, 
He droops and turns aside. 

XXVIII. 
•* Harper ! methinks thy magic lays,'* 
Matilda said, " can goblins raise ! 



635 



536 



[CANTO V. 



Well uigh my fancy can discom, 

Near the dark porch, a visage stem ; 

E'en now, in yonder shadowy nook, 

I see it ! — Redmond, Wilfrid, look ! — 

A human form distinct and clear — 

God, for thy mercy ! — It draws near T' 

She saw too true. Stride after stride, 

The centre of that chamber wide 

Fierce Bertram gain'd ; then made a stand, 

And, proudly wavine with his hand, 

Thunder'd — " Be still, upon your lives ! — 

He bleeds who speaks, he dies who strives.** 

Behind their chief, the robber crew 

Forth from the darkened portal drew, 

In silence — save that echo dread 

Return'd their heavy measured tread. 

The lamp's uncertain lustre gave 

Their arms to gleam, their plumes to wave ; 

File after file in order pass. 

Like forms on Banquo's mystic glass. 

Tlien, halting at their leader's sign. 

At once they forra'd and curv'd their line, 

Hemming within its crescent drear 

Their victims, like a herd of deer. 

Another sign, and to the aim 

Levell'd at once their muskets came, 

As waiting but their chieftain's word. 

To make their fatal volley heard. 



Back in a heap the menials drew 
Yet, ev'n in mortal terror, true. 
Their pale and startled group oppose 
Between Matilda and the foes. 
" O, haste thee, Wilfrid !" Redmond criad: 
" Undo that wicket by thy side ! 
Bear hence Matilda — gain the wood — 
The pass may be a while made good — 
Thy band, ere this, must sure be nigh — 
O speak not — dally not — but % !" 
While yet the crowd their motions hide, 
Throuigh the low wiclvet door they glide. 



CANTO v.] ROKEBT. 537 

Through vaulted passages they wind^ 

In Gothic intricacy twin'd ; 

Wilfrid half led, aud half he bore, 

Matilda to the postern-door. 

And safe beneath the forest tree, 

The Lady stands at liberty. 

The moonbeams, the fresh gale's caress, 

Renew'd suspended consciousness ; — 

*' Where's Redmond ? ' eagerly she cries : 

Thou answer'st not — he dies ! he dies 1 

And thou hast left him, all bereft 

Of mortal aid — ^with murd'rers left ! 

I know it well — he would not yield 

His sword to man — his doom is seal'd ! 

For my scorn'd life, which thou hast bought 

At price of his, I thank thee not." 

XXX. 

Th' unjust reproach, the angry look. 

The heart of Wilfrid could not brook, 

" Lady," he said, " my band so near, 

In safety thou mayst rest thee here. 

For Redmond's death thou shalt not mount 

If mine can buy his safe return." 

He turn'd away — his heart throbb'd high, 

The tear was bursting from his eye ; 

The sense of her injustice press'd 

Upon the Maid's dibtracted breast, — 

" Stay, Wilfrid, stay ! all aid is vain !" 

He heard, but turn'd him not again; 

He reaches now the postem-door, 

Now enters — and is seen no more. 

XXXI, 

With all the agony that e'er 
Was gender'd twixt suspense and fear. 
She watch'd the line of windows tall. 
Whose Gothic lattice lights the Hall, 
Distinguish'd by the paly red 
The lamps in dim reflection shed, 
While all beside in wan moonlight , 
Each grated casement glimmer'd white. 
z 2 



538 ROKKBT. CCAMTOy. 

No sight of harm, no sound of ill. 
It is a deep and midnight sliii. 
Who look'd upon the scene, had guess'd 
All in the Ca.>tle were at rest : 
When sudden on the ■windows shone 
A light'ning Hash, just seen and gone ! 
A shot is heard — Again the tiarae 
Flash'd thick and fast — a volley came ; 
Then echo'd wildly, from within, 
Of shout and scream the mingled din, 
And weapon-clash and maddening cry, 
Of those who kill, and those who die ! — 
As fiird the Hall with sulph'rous smoke, 
More red, more dark, tlie death-flash hroke.. 
And forms were on the lattice cast, 
That struck or struggled, as they past. 



What sounds upon the midnight wind 

Approach so rapidly behind ? 

It is, it is the tramp of steeds, 

Matilda hears the sound, she speeds, 

Seizes upon the leader's rein — 

" O, haste to aid, ere aid be vain ! 

Fly to the postern — gain the Hall !" 

From saddle spring the troopers all ; 

Their gallant steeds, at liberty. 

Run wild along the moonlight lea. 

But, ere they burst upon the scene, 

Full stubborn had the conflict been. 

When Bertram mark'd Matilda's flight, 

It gave the signal for the fight ; 

And Rokeby's vet'rans, seam'd with scan 

Of Scotland s and of Erin's wars, 

Their momentary panic o'er, 

Stood to the arms which then they bore 

(For they were weapon'd, and prepar'd 

Their Mistress on her way to guard.) 

Then cheer'd them to the fight O'Neale, 

Then peal'd the shot, afcd clash'd the steely 

Tlie war- smoke soon with sahJe breath 

Darkcn'd the scene of blood and death. 



CANTO V'O KOKEBY. 539 

While on the few defenders close 
The Bandits, Avith redoubled blows. 
And twice driv'n back, 3et tierce axid fell, 
Renew the charge with frantic yell. 

Wilfrid has fall'n — hut o'er him stood I 

Young Redmond, soil'd with smoke and blood, 

Cheering his mates with heart and hand 

Still to make good their desp'rate stand, 

" Up, comrades, up ! In Rokeby halls 

Ne'er be it said our courage falls. 

What ! faint ye for their savage cry, 

Or do the smoke-wreaths daunt your eye ? 

These rafters have return'd a shout 

As loud at Rokeby's wassail rout. 

As thick a smoke these hearths have given 

At Hallow-tide or Christmas-even.* 

Stand to it yet ! renew the fight. 

For Rokeby's and Matilda's right ! 

These slaves ! they dare not, hand to hand. 

Bide buffet from a true man's brand." 

Impetuous, active, fierce, and young, 

Upon th' advancing foes he sprung. 

Woe to the wretch at whom is bent 

His brandish'd falchion's sheer descent 1 

Backward they scatter d as he came, 

Like wolves before the levin flame, 

When, raid their howling conclave driven, 

Halh glanc'd the thunderbolt of heaven. 

Bertram rush'd on — but Harpool clasp'd. 

His knees, although in death he gasp'd. 

His falling corpse before him flung. 

And round the trammell'd ruffian clung. 

Just then, the soldiers fill'd the dome, 

And, shouting, charg'd the felons home 

So fiercely, that in panic dread. 

They broke, they yielded, fell, or fled, 

Bertram's stern voice they heed no more, 

Though heard above the battle's roar; 

» Such an exI>oriatir>n was. in similar circuilistaiie«% actOaOy 
^reu to hist foUowein by a Welsli cbiufiajiv 



540 ROKEBY. [CANTO >. 

While, trampling down the dying man, 
He strove, witli volley'd threat and ban. 
In scorn of odds, in fate's despite, 
To rally up the desp'rate fight. 

XXXIV. 

Soon murkier clouds the Hall enfoiJ, 
Than e'er from battle-thunders rolFd ! 
So dense, the combatants scarce know- 
To aim or to avoid the blow. 
Smothering and blindfold grows the fight — 
But soon shall dawn a dismal light ! , 
Mid cries, and clashing arms, there came 
The hollow sound of rushing tlame ; 
New horrors on the tumult dire 
Arise — the Castle is on fire ! 
Doubtful, if chance had cast the brand, 
Or frantic Bertram's des])'rate hand. 
Matilda saw — for frequent broke 
From the dim casements gusts of smoke. 
Yon tow'r, which late so clear defiu'd 
On the fair hemisphere reclin'd. 
That, pencill'd on its azure pure, 
The eye could count each embrasure, 
Now, swath'd within the sweeping cloud, 
Seems giant-spectre in his shroud ; 
Till, from each loop-hole flashing light, 
A spout of fire shines ruddy bright, 
And, gath'ring to united glare. 
Streams high into the midnight air ; 
A dismal beacon, far and wide. 
That waken'd Greta's slumb'ring side. 
Soon all beneath, through gall'ry long 
And pendant arch, the fire Hash'd strong, 
Snatching whatever could maintain, 
Raise, or extend, its furious reign ; 
Startling, with closer cause of dread, 
The females who the conflict fled. 
And now rush'd forth upon the plain. 
Filling the air vnth clamours vain. 

XXXV. 

But ceasM not yet, the Hall within, 
The shriek, the shout, the carnage-din. 



CANTO v.] ROKEBY. 

Till bursting lattices give proof 

The flames have caught the rafter'd roof. 

What ! wait they till its beams amain 

Crash on the slayers and the slain f 

Th' alarm is caught — the drawbridge failS) 

The warriors hurry from the walls, 

But, by the conflagration's light, 

Upon the lawn renew the fight. 

Each straggling felon down was bew'd, 

Not one could gain the shelt'ring wood; 

But forth th' affrighted harper sprung, 

And to Matilda's robe he clung. 

Her shriek, entreaty, and command, 

Stopp'd the pursuer's lifted hand, 

Denzil and he alive were ta en ; 

The rest, save Bertram, gJl are slain. 

xxxvr. 
And where is Bertram ? — Soaring high, 
The gen'ral flame ascends the sky ; 
In gathered group the soldiers gaze 
Upon the broad and roaring blaze, 
"W hen, like infernal demon, sent 
Red from his penal element. 
To plague and to pollute the air, — 
His face all gore, on fire his hair, 
Forth from the central mass of smoke 
The giant form of Bertram broke ! 
His brandish'd sword on high he rears, 
- Then plung'd among opposing spears ; 
Round his left arm his mantle tniss'd, 
Receiv'd and foil'd three lances' thrust. 
Nor these his headlong course withstood. 
Like reeds he snapp'd the tough ash-wood. 
In vain his foes around him clung ; 
With matchless force aside he flung 
Their boldest, — as the bull, at bay, 
Tosses the ban-dogs from his way. 
Through forty foes his path he made. 
And safely gain'd the forest glade. 

XXXVII. 

Scarce was this final conflict o'er. 
When from th« postern Redmond bore 



541 



542 noKEBY. lCAMTO.VI 

Wilfrid, "vvlio, as of life bereft. 
Had in the fatal Hall been left. 
Deserted there by all his train ; 
But Redmond saw, and turn'd again. — 
Beneath an oak he laid him down. 
That in the blaze gleamd ruddy brown. 
And then his mantle's clasp undid; 
Matilda held his drooping head. 
Till, giv'n to breathe the freer air, 
Returning life repaid their care. 
He gaz'd on them with hea\'y sigh, — 
" I could have wish'd ev'n thus to die f* 
No more he said — for now with speed 
Each trooper had regained his steed ; 
The ready palfreys stood array'd, 
For Redmond and for Rokeby's Maid ; 
Two Wilfrid on his horse sustain, 
One leads his charger by the rein. 
But oft Matilda look'd behind. 
As up the Vale of Tees they wind, 
Where far the mansion of her sires 
Beacon'd the dale with midnight fires. 
In gloomy arch above them spread, 
The clouded heav'n lower'd bloody red : 
Beneath, in sombre light, the flood 
Appear'd to roll in waves of blood. 
Then, one by one, was heard to fall 
The tow'r, the donjon-keep, the hall. 
Each i-ushing down with thunder sound, 
A space the conflagration drown' d ; 
Till, gath'ring strength, again it rose, 
Announc'd its triumph in its close, 
Shook wide its light the landscape o'er, 
Then sunk— and Kokeby was no more ! 



CANTO SIXTa 



I. 



The stimmer sun, whose early pow*X 
Was wont to gild Matilda's bowV, 



CANTO VI.] ROKEBY. 

And rouse her with his matin ray 
Her duteous orisons to pay, 
That moruing sun has three times seen 
The flow'rs unfold on Rokeby green. 
But sees no more the slumbers fly 
From fair Matilda's hazel eye ; 
That morning sun has three times broke 
On Rokeby's glades of elm and oak. 
But, rising from their silvan screen, 
Marks no grey turrets' glance between. 
A shapeless mass lie keep and tow'r. 
That, hissing to the morning show'r, 
Can but with smould'ring vapour pay 
The early smile of summer day. 
The peasant, to his labour bound, 
Pauses to view the blacken'd mound. 
Striving, amid the ruin d space. 
Each well-remember'd spot to trace. 
That length of frail and fire-scorch'd wall 
Once screen'd the hospitable hall ; 
When yonder broken arch was whole, 
'Twas there was dealt the weekly dole; 
And where yon tott'ring columns nod. 
The chapel sent the h}Tnn to God. — 
So Hits the v^orld's uncertain span ! 
Nor zeal for God, nor love for man, 
Gives mortal monuments a date 
Beyond the pow'r of Time and Fate. 
The tow'rs must share the builder's doom; 
Ruin is theirs, and his a tomb : 
But better boon benignant Heav'n 
fo Faith and Charity has giv'n. 
And bids the Christian hope sublime 
Transcend the bounds of Fate and Time. 

IL 

Now the third night of summer came, 
Since that which witnessd Rokeby's '" 
On Brignall cliffs and Scargill brake 
The owlet's horailieg awake, 
The bittern scream d from rush and flag, 
The raven slumber'd on his crag. 



643 



544 ROKECT. [CANTO VI 

Forth from his den the otter drew, — 
Grayling and trout their tyrant knew, 
As between reed and sedge he peers, 
With fierce round snout and sharpcu'd ears, 
Or, prowling by the moonbeam cool. 
Watches the stream or swims the pool ; — 
Perch'd on his wonted ejTie hisfh, 
Sleep seal'd the tercelet's wearied eye, 

j i That all the day had watch'd so well 

' I The cushat dart across the dell. 

[[ In dubious beam reflected shone 

It That lofty cliff of pale grey stone, 

I Beside whose base the secret cave 

M: To rapine late a refuge gave. 

;[ The crags wild crest of copse and yew 

\\ On Greta's breast dark shadows threw; 

I ! Shadows that met or shunn'd the sight, 

I j With ev'ry change of fitful light ; 

] j' As hope and fear alternate chase 

! I Our course through life's uncertain raoA. 



in. 

Gliding by crag and copsewood green, 
A solitary form was seen 
To trace with stealthy pace the wold, 
Like fox that seeks the midnight fold. 
And pauses oft, and cow'rs dismay 'd. 
At ev'ry breath that stirs the shade. 
He passes now the ivy bush, — 
The owl has seen him, and is hush ; 
He passes now the dodder'd oak, — 
He heard the startled raven croak ; 
Lower and lower he descends, 
Rustle the leaves, the brushwood bendfl ; 
The otter hears him tread the shore. 
And dives, and is beheld no more ; 
And by the cliff of pale grey stone 
The midnight wand'rer stands alone. 
Methinks, that by the moon we trace 
A well-rejnember'd form and face ! 
That stripling shape, that cheek so pale. 
Combine to tell a rueful tale, 



CANTO VlO EOKKBY. 

Of pow'rs misus'^ of passion's force, 
Of guilt, of grief, and of remorse ! 
'Tis Edmund's eye, at ev'ry sound 
That flings that guilty glance around ; 
'Tis Edmund's trembling haste dividee 
The brushwood that the cavern hides ; 
And, when its narrow porch lies bare, 
'Tis Edmund's form that enters there. 



His flint and steel have sparkl'd bright, 
A lamp hath lent the cavern light 
Fearful and quick his eye surveys 
Each angle of the gloomy maze. 
Since last he left that stern abode, 
It geem'd as none its floor had trod; 
Untouch'd appear'd the various spoil, 
The purchase of his comrades'' toil ; 
Masks and disguises grim'd with mud. 
Arms broken and defil'd with blood. 
And all the nameless tools that aid 
1< ight-felons in their lawless trade, 
Upon the gloomy walls were hung, 
Or lay in nooks obscurely flung. 
Still on the sordid board appear 
The relics of the noontide cheer : 
Flagons and empty flasks were there. 
And bench o'erthrown, and shatter'd chair; 
And all around the semblance show'd, 
As when the final revel glow'd. 
When the red sun was setting fast, 
And parting pledge Guy DenzU past. 
" To Rokeby treasure- vaults !" they quaff 'd, 
And shouted loud and wildly laugh'd, 
Pour'd madd'ning from the rocky door. 
And parted — to return no more ! 
They found in Rokeby vaults their'iaoom,-- 
A bloody death, a burning/ tomb I 



There his own peaRant dress he spies, 
Doff'd to assvmie that quaint disguise ; 



545 



546 



[CANTO <a 



And shudd'ring thought upon his glee, 

Wbcn prank'd in garb of minstrelsy. 

" be the fatal art accurst," 

He ■ :ied, "• that movd my toliy first; 

Till, brib'd by bandits' base applause, 

I burst through God's and iNatiire's laws I 

Three summer days are scantiy past 

Since I have trod this cavern last, 

A thoughtless wretch, and prompt to eir — 

But, O, as yet no murderer ! 

Ev'n now I list my comrades' cheer. 

That geu'ral laugh is in mine ear. 

Which rais'd my pulse, and steel'd my heart, 

As I rehears'd my treach'rous part — 

And would that all since then could seem 

The phantom of a fever's dream ! 

But fatal Mera'ry notes too well 

The horrors of the dying yell, 

From my despairing mates that broke. 

When fiash'd the fire and roil d the smoke , 

When the avengers shouting came. 

And hemm'd us twixt the sword and flame 1 

My frantic flight,- the lifted brand,— 

That angel's interposing hand ! 

If, for my life from slaughter freed, 
I yet could pay some grateful meed ! 
Perchance this object of my quest 
May aid" — he tum'd, nor spoke the rest. 



Due northward from the rugged hearth. 

With paces five he metes the earth, 

Then toil'd with mattock to explore 

The entrails of the cavern floor. 

Nor paus'd till, deep beneath the ground. 

His search a small steel casket found. 

Just as he stoop'd to loose its hasp. 

His shoulder felt a giant grasp. 

He started, and look'd up aghast. 

Then shritk'd ! — 'Twas Bertram held him fast 

" Fear not !" he said ; but who could hear 

That deep stern voice, and cease to fear? 



CANTO VU) ROKEliV. 

** Fear not ! — By beaVn he shakes as mucli 

As partridge in the falcou's clutch :" — 

He rairi'd him, and unloos'd his hold. 

While from the op'ning casket roil'd 

A chain and reliquaire of gokl. 

Bertram beheld it with sn q>rise, 

Gaz'd on its fashion and device. 

Then, cheering Edmund as he could, 

Somewhat he smooth'd his rugged mood : 

For still the youth's half-lifted eye 

Quiver'd with terror's agony. 

And sidelong glanc'd, as to explore. 

In meditated Hight, the door. 

*' Sit," Bertram said, " from danger free : 

Thou canst not, and thou shalt not, flee. 

Chance brings me hither; hill and plain 

I've sought for refuge-place in vaiiL 

And tell me now, thou aguish boy. 

What mak'st thou here? what means this toyf 

Denzil and thou, I mark'd, were ta'en ; 

What lucky chance unbound your chain? 

I deem'd, long since on Baliol's tow'r. 

Your heaos were warp'd with sun and show'r. 

Tell me the whole — and, mark ! nought e'er 

Chafes me like falsehood, or like fear." 

Gath'ring his courage to his aid. 

But trembling still, the youth obey'd. 



" Depzil and I two nights pass'd o'er 
In fetter' on the dungeon floor. 
A guest the third sad morrow brought ; 
Our hold dark Oswald Wycliffe sought, 
And ey'd my comrade long askance, 
With fix'd and penetrating glance. 
' Guv Denzil art thou call d?' — * The same.' 
' At Court who serv'd wild Buckinghame ; 
Thence banish'd, won a keeper's place, 
So Villiers will'd, in Marwood-chase ; 
That lost — I need not tell thee why — 
ITjou mad'st thy wit thy wants supply. 
Then fought for Rokeby: — Have I guess'd 
My pria'ner right ? — ' At thy behest' — 



547 



548 ROKEBT. [CANIO Vl 

He paus'd a while, and then went ou 

With low and confidential tone ; — 

Me, as I judge, not then he saw, 

Close nestl'd in my couch of straw.-— 

' List to me, Guy. Thou know'st the groot 

Have frequent need of what they hate ; 

Hence, in their favour oft we see 

Unscnipl'd, useful men like thee. 

Were I dispos'd to bid thee live, 

What pledge of fiaith hast thou to give?' 

VIII. 

" The ready Fiend, who never yet 

Hath fail'd to sharpen Denzil's wit, 

Prompted his lie — ' His only child 

Should rest his pledge;' — The Baron srail'd. 

And turn'd to me — ' Thou art his son ?' 

I bow'd — our fetters were undone. 

And we were led to hear apart 

A dreadful lesson of his art. 

Wilfrid, he said, his heir and son, 

Had fair Matilda's favour won ; 

And long since had their union been. 

But for her father's bigot spleen, 

"WTiose brute and blindfold party-rage 

Would, force per force, her hand engage 

To a base kern of Irish earth. 

Unknown his lineage and his birth, 

Save that a dying ruffian bore 

The infant brat to Rokeby door. 

Gentle restraint, he said, would lead 

Old Rokeby to enlarge his creed ; 

But fair occasion he must find 

For such restraint well-meant and kind. 

The Knight being render'd to his charge 

But as a prisoner at large. 

IX. 
" He school'd us in a well-forg'd tale, 
Of scheme the Castle walls to scale, 
To which was leagued each Cavalier 
That dwells upon the Tyne and Wear; 
That Rokeby, his parole forgot. 
Had dealt with us to aid the plot 



CANTO VI.] 



ROKEBT. 549 



Such -was the charge, which Denzil's zeal 

Of hate to Rokeby and O'Neale 

ProfFer'd, as witness, to make good, 

Ev'n though the forfeit were their blood. 

I scrupled, until o'er and o'er 

His prisoners' safety Wycliffe swore ; 

And then — alas ; wlrat needs there more ? 

I knew I should not live to say 

The proffer I refus'd that day ; 

Ashani'd to live, yet loath to die, 

I soil'd me with their infamy !" — 

" Poor youth," said Bertram, "'wav'rbig still 

Unfit alike for good or ill ! 

But what fell next ?" — ■•■• Soon as at krge 

Was scroll'd and sign'd our fatal charge, 

There never yet, on tragic stage. 

Was seen so well a painted rage 

As Oswald's-show'd ! With loud alarm 

He call'd his garrison to arm ; 

From tow'r to tow'r, from post to post, 

He hurried as if all were lost ; 

Consign'd to dungeon and to chain 

The good old knjght and all his train ; 

Warn'd each 'suspected Cavalier, 

Within his limits, to appear 

To-morrow, at the hour of noon, 

In the high church of Eglistone." — 

X. 

" Of Eglistone ! — Ev'n now I pass'd," 

Said Bertram, " as the night clos'd fast ; 

Torches and cressets gleam'd around, 

I heard the saw and hammer sound. 

And I could mark they toil'd to raise 

A scaffold, hung with sable baize. 

Which the grim headsman's scene displayed. 

Block, axe, and sawdust ready laid. 

Some evil deed will there be done, 

Unless Matilda wed his son ; — 

She loves him not — 'tis shrewdly guess'd 

That Redmond rules the damsel's breast. 

This is a turn of Oswald's skill ; 

But I may meet, and foil him still ! 



550 ROKEBY. CCANTO VI 

How cam'st thou to thy freedom ?" — " There 

Lies mysteiy more dark and rare. 

In midbt of Wycliffe's well feign'd rage, 

A scroll was offer'd by a page, 

Who told, a muffled horsemen late 

Had left it at the Castle gate. 

He broke the seal — his cheek fcow'd changOi 

Sudden, portentous, wild, and strange ; 

The mimic passion of his eye 

Was turn'd to actual agony ; 

His hand like summer sapling shook. 

Terror and guilt were in his look. 

Denzil he judg'd, in time of need, 

Fit counsellor for evil deed; 

And thus apart his counsel broke 

While with a ghastly smile he spoke:— 



" ' As in the pageants of the stage, 
The dead awake in this wild age, 
Mortham — whom all men deera'd decreed 
In his own deadly snare to bleed. 
Slain by a bravo, whom, o'er sea. • 
i He train d to aid in murd'ring me,— 

j Mortham has 'scaped I The coward shot 

The steed, but harm'd the rider not.' ** 
Here, with an execration fell, 
Beitram leap'd up. and pac d the cell : — 
" Thuie own grey head, or bosom dark," 
He mutter "d, " may be surer mark !" 
Then sat, and sign'd to Edmund, pale 
With terror, to resume his tale, 
" Wycliffe went on : — ' Mark with what flight* 
Of wilder'd reverie he writes : — 

THE LETTER. 

" Ruler of Mortham *s destiny ! 

Though dead, thy victim lives to thee. 

Once had he all that binds to life 

A lovely child, a lovelier wife; 

Wealth, fame, and friendship, were his own— 

Thou gav'st the word, and thej are Hown. 



CANTO VI.J JIOKEBT, 551 

Mark how he pays thee : — To thy hand 
He yields his honours and his laud. 
One boon premis'd; — Restore his child! 
And, from his native land exil'd, 
Mortham no more returns to claim 
His lands, his honours, or his name ; 
Refuse him this, and from the slain 
Thou shalt see Moithara rise again.'— 



" This billet -while the baron read. 
His falt'ring accents show'd his dread ; 
He press'd his forehead with his palm. 
Then took a scornful tone and calm ; 
'Wild as the winds, as billows wild I 
What wot I of his spouse or child? 
Hither he brought a joyous dame. 
Unknown her lineage or her name ; 
Her, in some frantic fit, he slew ; 
The nurse and child in fear withdrew. 
Heav'n be my witness ! wist I where 
To find this youth, my kinsman's heir, — 
Unguerdon'd, I would give with joy 
The father's arms to fold his boy, 
And Mortham's lands and tow'rs resign 
To the just heirs of Mortham's line.' — 
Thou know'st that scarcely e'en his fear 
Suppresses Denzil's cynic sneer ; — 
' Then happy is thy vassal's part,' 
He said, 'to ease his patron's heart 1 
In thine own jailer's watchful care 
Lies Mortham's just and rightful heir; 
Thy gen'rous wish is fully won, — 
Redxond O'Neale is Mortham's son.'— ' 



" Up starting with a frenzied look. 
His cleuf bed hand the Baron shook : 
* Is Hell at work ? or dost thou rave. 
Or dar'st thou palter with me, slave I 
Perchance thou wot'st not, Barnard's towers 
Have racks, of strange and gha&tly powers.* 



662 ROKEBT. rCAlVTO VI 

Denzil, who well his safety knew, 

Firmly rejoin 'd ' I tell thee true. 

Thy racks could give thee but to know 

The proofs, which I, untortured show. 

It chanc'd upon a Avinter night, 

When early snow made Stanmore white. 

That very night, when first of all, 

Redmond O'Neale saw Rokeby-hall, 

It was my goodly lot to gain 

A reliquary and a chain. 

Twisted and chas'd of massive gold. 

—Demand not how the prize I hold! 

It was not giv'n, nor lent, nor sold. — 

Gilt tablets to ihv. chain were hung, 

With letters in the Irish tongue. 

I hid my spoil, for there was need 

That I should leave the land with speed} 

Nor then I deem'd it safe to bear 

On mine own person gems so rare. 

Small heed I of the tablets took. 

But since have spell'd them by the book, 

When some sojourn in Erin's land 

Of their wild speech had given command 

But dai kling was the sense ; the phrase 

And language those of other days, 

Involved of purpose, as to foil 

An interloper's prying toil. 

The words, but not the sense, I knew, 

Till fortune gave the guiding clew. 

XIV. 

*' ' Three days since was that clue reveal'd 

In Thorsgill as I lay conceal'd. 

And heard at full when Rokeby's Maid 

Her uncle's history displayed ; 

And now I can interpret well 

Each syllable the tablets tell. 

Mark, then : Fair Edith was the joy 

Of old O'Neale of Clandeboy ; 

Kut from her sire and country fled, 

In secret Mortham's lord to wed. 

O'Neale, his first resentment o'er, 

Despatch'd hia son to Greta's shore. 



CANTO VIO ROKEBT. S53 

Enjoining he should make him kno^vn 
(Until his farther will were shown) 
To Edith, but to her alone. 
What of their ill-starr'd meeting fell. 
Lord Wycliiie knows, and none so well. 

XT. 

** ' O'Neale it -was, who, in despair, 
Rol)b'd Morthara of his infant heir; 
He bred him in their nurture wild. 
And caird him murder'd Connal's child* 
Soon died the nurse ; the Clan believ'd 
What from their Chieftain they receiv'd. 
His purpose was, that ne er again 
The boy should cross the Irish main; 
But, like his mountain sires, enjoy 
The woods and wastes of Clandeboy. 
Then on the land wild troubles caroe. 
And stronger Chieftains urged a claino. 
And wrested from the old man's hands 
His native tow'rs, his father's lands. 
Unable then, amid the strife. 
To guard young Redmond's rights or lif£, 
Lsvte and reluctant he restores 
The infant to his native shores. 
With goodly gifts and letters stor'd, 
With many a deep conjuring word. 
To Mortham and to Rokeby's Lord. 
Nought knew the clod of Irish earth, 
^'ho was the guide, of Redmond's birth; 
But deem'd his Chiefs commands were lal^. 
On both, by both to be obey'd. 
How he was wounded by the way 
I need not, and I list not say.' — * 

XVL 

" ' A wond'rous tale ! and, grant it tnui, 
What,' V>'yclifFe auswer'd, 'might I do? 
Hoav'n knows, as willingly as now 
r raise the bonnet from my brow. 
Would I my kinsmaji's manors fair, 
Restore to Mortham or his heir; 
2a 



554 ROKEBT. CCANTOTl 

But Mortbam is distraught — O'Nealo 
Has drawn for tyranny his steel, 
I i Malignant to our rightful cause, 

I j And train'd in Rome's delusive laws. 

Hark thee apart 1' — They whisper'd long. 
Till Denzil's voice giew bold and strong :— 
' My proofs ! I never will,' he said, 
' Show mortal man where they are laid. 
Nor hope discovery to foreclose, 
By giving me to feed the crows ; 
For I have mates at large, who know 
Where I am wont such toys to stow. 
Free me from peril and from band, 
These tablets are at thy command ; 
Nor were it hard to form some train, 
To wile old Mortham o'er the main. 
Then, lunatic's nor papist's hand 
Should wrest from thine the goodly land.*— 
— ' I like thy wit,' said Wycliffe, ' well ; 
But here in hostage shalt thou dwelL 
Thy son, unless my purpose err, 
May prove the trustier messenger. 
A scroll to Mortham shall he bear 
From me, and fetch these tokens rare. 
Gold slialt thou have, and that good etoN^ 
And freedom, his commission o er ; 
But if his faith should chance to fail, 
The gibbet frees thee from the j^.' 



SVII. 

" Mesh'd in the net himself had twin'd, 
"What subterfuge could Denzil find? 
He told me, with reluctant sigh, 
That hidden here the tokens lie; 
Conjur'd my swift return and aid, 
By all he scoff'd and disobey' d. 
And look'd as if the noose were tied. 
And I the priest who left his side. 
This scroll for Mortham Wycliffe gavt^ 
Whom I must seek by Greta's wave: 
Or in the hut where chief he hides. 
Where ThorsgiU's forester resides, 



CANTO VI.3 



BOKEBr. 555 



(Thence chanc'd it, wand'ring in the gladet, 

Tliat he descried our ambuscade). 

I was dismiss'd as evening fell, 

And reach'd but now this rocky cell.** — 

*' Give Oswald's letter." — Bertram read, 

And tore it fiercely, shred by shred : — 

*' All lies and villany 1 to blind 

His noble kinsman's generous mind, 

And train him on from day to day. 

Till he can take his life away. — 

And now, declare thy purpose, youth. 

Nor dare to answer, save the truth; 

If aught I mark of Denzil's art, 

I'll tear the secret from thv heaut r* — 

xvin. 

" It needs not. I renounce,** he saU, 

My tutor and bis deadly trade. 

Fix'd was my purpose to declare 

To Mortham, Redmond is his heir ; 

To tell him in what risk he stands. 

And yield these tokens to his hands. 

Fix'd was my purpose to atone. 

Far as I may, the evil done ; 

And fix'd it rests — if I survive 

This night, and leave this cave alive.** — 

" And Denzil ?" — " Let them ply the nok, 

Ev'n till his joints and sinews crack J 

If Oswald tear him limb from limb. 

What ruth can Denzil claim from him. 

Whose thoughtless youth he led astray. 

And damn'd to this unhallow d way? 

He school'd me, faith and vows were vain? 

Now let my master reap his gain." — 

" True," answer'd Bertram, " 'tis his meed 

There's retribution in the deed. 

But thou — thou art not for our course. 

Hast fear, hast pity, hast remorse ; 

And he, with us the gale who braves. 

Must heave such cargo to the waves. 

Or lag with overloaded prore, 

While barks uubui'den'd reach the shove.* 



556 ROKEBT. CCAMTO VI. 

*XIX. 

He paus'd, and, stretching him at length, 
Seem'd to repose his buJky strength. 
Conununiug with his secret mind, 
As half he sat, and half reclin'd. 
One ample hand his forehead press'd. 
And one was dropp'd across his breast 
The shaggy eyebrows deeper carae 
Above his eyes of swarthy Hame ; 
His lip of pride a while forbore 
The haughty curve till then it wore; 
Th' unalter'd fierceness of his look 
A shade of darkcn'd sadness took,— 
For dark and sad a presage press'd 
Resistlessly on Bertram's breast, — 
And when he spoke, his wonted tone, 
So fierce, abrupt, and brief, was gonei. 
His voice was steady, low, and deep. 
Like distant waves v/hen breezes sleep; 
And sorrow mix'd with Edmund's fear. 
Its low unbroken depth to hear. 

XX. 
*• Edmund, in thy sad tale I find 
The woe that warp'd my patron's mind, 
'Twould wake the fountains of the eye 
In other men, but mine are dry. 
Mortham must never see the fool. 
That sold himself base Wyclifre's tool; 
Yet less from thirst of sordid gain. 
Than to avenge suppos'd disdain. 
Say, Bertram rues his fault ; — a word, 
Till now, from Bertram never heard : 
Say, loo, that Mortham's Lord he prays 
To think but on their former days; 
On Quariana's beach and rock. 
On Cayo's bursting battle-shock. 
On Darien's sands and deadly dew, 
And on the dart Tlatzeca threw ; — 
Perchance my patron yet may hear 
More that may grace his comrade's biet 
My soul hath felt a secret weighfc, 
A vramiug oi approaching fate : 



OANTO VI 3 ROKEBT. 6S7 

A priest had said, ' Return, repeat f 
As well to bid that rock be rent. 
Firm as that Hint I face mine end; 
My heart may burst, but cannot bead. 

XXI. 

" The dawning of my youth, ^Yi'^ ^.vn 
And prophecy, the Dalesmen saw ; 
For over Uedesdaie it came. 
As bodeful as their lieacon-Hame. 
Edmund, thy years were scarcely min«^ 
When, challenging the Clans of Tyne 
To bring their best my brand to prove. 
O'er Hexham's altar hung my glove;* 
But Tynedale, nor in tower nor town. 
Held champion meet to take it down. 
]My noontide, India may declare ; 
Like her tierce sun, I Hr'd the air! 
Like him, to wood and cave bade fly 
Her natives, from mine angry eye. 
Panama's maids shall long look pale 
When liisingham inspires the tale; 
Chili's dark matrons long shall tame 
The froward child with Bertram's name. 
And now, my race of terror run, 
Mine be the eve of tropic sun ! 
No pale gradations quench his ray. 
No twilight dews his wrath allay; 
With disk like battle- target red, 
He rushes to his burning bed, 

* This custom among the Redesdale and Tynedale Borderer* is 
thus uieiituiued i.i ihe mlerestiiig Life of Bei'iKinl Gilpin. " On« 
Suniay iiioiniii{{, coining to a i Imioh in those |wits, hefore the 
jppople were assembled, be observed a glo. e Iiangina up, aiid wa» 
iufoimed. by the sexton, that it was inemt as a rhallenge to any 
one who should take ii dfuvn. Mr Gilpin ordi-red the sexton to 
reach it him ; but upnn his utterly ret'usiiij; to touch it, he t"ok it 
down hiniselt, and put it in'o his breasl. Whe'.i che people ivero 
assem! led, he went iut'i the pulpit, and, b. f )re he concluded his 
sarm )n, took occasion to rehn.iethem sevi-re^v for thest- iMhuinan 
cbalieu:!es. ' I hear," said hu, 'thiiton.' anmngr you hath hatijied 
lip a gov, even in this saered pla^e, threateoi g to ti!,'hi any ou« 
ivh.i taketh u down : m'e. I have taken it d'uvn ;' .tod, pulling .'Ut 
the gl'VH., he held it np »<• thecou!rreg:iti -n. and th"n sho^red theia 
how au-iJitab!e rnch sava^i? prariic-s were to the pi ofeSMon «! 
Christianity, u»ing »•] .-l. perjuasives to mutual love as he thuught 
would most altect laem."— Xt^« of Barnard Gilom. I >nd. irsSL 
Bvo. p. 177. 



658 HOKE BY. c CANTO VI 

Dyes the wide wave with bloody light, 
Then sinks at once — and all is night. — 

XXII, 

" Now to thy mission, Edmund. Fly^ 
Seek Mortham out, and bid him hie 
To Richmond, where his troops are laid. 
And lead his force to Redmond's aid. 
Say, till he reaches Eglistone, 
A friend will watch to guard his son. 
Now, fare- thee- we 11 ; for night draws 0X1, 
And I would rest me here alone." 
Despite his ill-dissembl'd fear, 
There swam in Edmund's eye a tear; 
A tribute to the courage high, 
Which stoop'd not in extremity. 
But strove, in-egularly great. 
To triumph o'er approaching fate! 
Bertram beheld the dew-drop start, 
It almost touch'd his iron heart : — 
"■ I did not think there lived," he said, 
" One, who would tear for Bertram shed.** 
He loosen'd then his baldric's hold, 
A buckle broad of massive gold; — 
"• (")f ah the spoil that paid his pains, 
But this with Risingham remains ; 
And this, dear Edmund, thou shalt take, 
And wear it long for Bertram's sake. 
Once more — to Mortham speed amain; 
Farewell ! and turn thee not again." 

XXIII. 
The night has yielded to the mom. 
And far the hours of prime are worn. 
Oswald, who, since the dawn of day, 
Had curs'd his messenger's delay, 
Impatient question'd now his train, 
*' Was Uenzil's son return'd again ?" 
It chanc'd there answer'd of the crew, 
A menial, who young Edmund knew: 
" No son of Denzil this," — he said ; 
A peasant boy from Winston glade, 



CANTO VL] ROKESy. 

For song and minstrelsy reno^vn'd, 

And knavish pranks, the hamlets round.'' — 

" Not Denzil's son ! — From Winston valol — 

Then it was false, that specious tale ; 

Or, worse — he hath despatch'd the youth 

To show to Mortham's Lord its truth. 

Fool that I was ! — but 'tis too late ; — 

This is the very turn of fate ! — 

The tale, or true or false, relies 

On Denzil's evidence ! — He dies! — 

Ho ! Provost Marshal ! instantly 

Lead Denzil to the gallows-tree ! 

Allow hira not a parting word ; 

Short be the shrift, and sure the cord I 

Then let his gory head appal 

Marauders from the Castle-wall. 

Lead forth thy guard, that duty done^ 

With best despatch to Eglistone — 

Basil, tell Wilfrid he must straight 

Attend me at the castle-gate." — 



" Alas 1" the old domestic said. 
And shook his venerable head, 
" Alas, my Lord ! full ill to-day 
May my young master brook the way ! 
The leech has spoke with grave alarm, 
Of unseen hurt, of secret harm, 
Of sorrow lurking at the heart, • 

That mars and lets his healing art.** — 
" Tush, tell not me ! — Romantic boys 
Pine themselves sick for airy toys, 
I will find cure for Wilfrid soon; 
Bid him for Eglistone be boune. 
And quick ! 1 hear the dull death-drum 
Tell Denzil's hour of fate is come.*' 
He paus'd with scornful smile, and then 
Resura'd his train of thought agen. 
*' Now comes my fortune's crisis near I 
Entreaty boots not — instant fear, 
Nought el.ie, can bend Matilda's pride, 
Or win her to be Wilfrid's bride. 



&59 



560 EOKEBt. f CANTO Vt 

Bnt when she sees the scaffold plac'd. 

With axe and block and headsman grac'd. 

And when she deems, that to deny 

Dooms Redmond and her sire to die. 

She must give way. — Then, were the line 

Of Rokeby once combiu'd with mine. 

I gain the weather-gage of fato ! 

If Morthara come, he comes too late. 

While 1, thus allied and prepar'd, 

Bid him defiance to his beard. — 

— If she prove stubborn, shall I dare 

To drop the axe ? — Soft 1 pause we there. 

Mortham still livfts — yon youth may tell 

His tale — and F'aiifax loves him well ; — . 

Else, whe e^ore should I now delay 

To sweep this Redmjnd from my way? 

But she to piety perforce 

Must yield, — Without there ! Sound to horse.'* 

XXV. 

'Twas bustle in the court /below, — 

*' iMount, and march forward !" — Forth they go; 

Steeds neigh and trample all around. 

Steel rings, spears glimmer, trumpets sound. — 

Just then was sung his parting hvmn ; 

And Denzil turn'd his eyeballs dim, 

And, scarcely conscious what he sees, 

Follows the horsemen down the Tees; 

And scarcely conscious what he hears, 

The trumpets tingle in his ears. 

O'er the long bridge they're sweeping no"W 

The van is hid by gi-eenwood bough ; 

But ere the rearward had pass'd o'er, 

Guy Denzil heard and saw no more ' 

One stroke, upon the Castle bell. 

To Oswald rung his dying knell. 

XXVI. 

O, for that pencil, erst profuse 

Of chivalry s einblazon'd hues. 

That trac'd of old, in Woodstock bo\B«^ 

The pageant of the Leaf and Flower, 



CAi^'TO ri.] ROKEBY. 

And bodied forth the tourney high, 
Held for the hanu of Emily ! 
Then might I paint the tumult broad. 
That to the crowded abbey tlow'd. 
And pour'd, as wi:h an ocean's sound. 
Into the church's ample bound ! 
Then might I show each varying mien, 
Kxulting, woeful, or serene ; 
Indiff'rence, with his idiot stare, 
And Sympathy, with anxious air, 
Paint the dejected Cavalier, 
Doubtful, disarm'd, and sad of cheer; 
And his proud foe, whose formal eye 
Ciaim'd conquest now and mastery ; 
And the bnite crowd, whose envious zeal 
iluzzas each turn of Fortune's wheel, 
And loudest shouts when lowest lie 
Exalted worth and station high. 
Yet what may such a wish avail? 
'Tis mii;e to tell an onward tale, 
Hurrying, as best I can, along, 
The hearers and the hasty song ; — 
Like trav'ller when approaching home, 
Who sees the shades of evening come, 
And must not now his cours-e delay, 
Or choose the fair, but winding way; 
Nay, scarcely may his pace suspend. 
Where o'er his head the wildings bend. 
To bless the breeze that cools his brow. 
Or snatch a blossom from the bough. 



The rev'rend pile lay wild and wastes 
Profan'd, dishonour'd, and defac'd. 
Tnrough storied lattices no more 
In soften'd light the sunbeams pour. 
Gilding the Gothic sculpture rich 
Of shrine, and monument, and niubeb 
The Civil fury of the time 
Made spoil of sacrilegious crime; 
For dark Fanaticism rent 
Altar, and screen, and ornament, 
2 a2 



561 



562 ROKEBY. [CANTO Vt 

And peasant hands the tomhs o'erthrew 
Of Bowes, of Rokeby, and Fitz-Hugh. 
And now was seen, unwonted sight, 
In holy walls a scaffold dight ! 
Where once the priest, of grace divine 
Dealt to his flock the mystic sign ; 
There stood the block display'd, and there 
The headsman grim his hatchet bare ; 
And for the word of Hope and Faith, 
Resounded loud a doom of death. 
Thrice the fierce trumpet's breath was heard. 
And echoed thrice the herald's word, 
Dooning, for breach of martial laAvs, 
And treason to the Commons' cause, 
The Knight of Rokeby and O'Neale 
To stoop their heads to block and steel. 
The trumpets flourish'd high and shrill, 
Then was a silence dead and still ; 
And silent pray'rs to heav'n were cast, 
And stilling sobs were bursting fast, 
Till from the crowd began to rise 
Murmurs of sorrow or surprise. 
And from the distant isles there came 
Deep-mutter'd threats, with VVyclilie'B 



But Oswald, guarded by his band. 

Pow'iful in e%il, wav'd his hand. 

And bade Sedition's voice be dead. 

On peril of the murm'rer's head. 

Then Hrst his glance sought Rokeby's Knight { 

Who gaz'd on the tremendous sight. 

As calm as if he came a guest 

To kindred Baron's feudal feast, 

As calm as if that trumpet-call 

Were summons to the banner'd hall ; 

Firm in his loyalty he stood, 

And prompt to seal it with his blood. 

AVith downcast look drew Oswald nigh, — 

He durst not cope with Rokeby's eye !— 

And said, with low and fait' ring breath, 

*' Thou know'st the terms of life and death." 



CANTO VI,] ROKEBY. 568 

The Knight then turn'd, and sternly smU*d; 

" Tlie maiden is mine only child, 

Yet shall my blessing leave her head. 

If with a traitor's son she wed." 

Then Redmond spoke : " The life of one 

Might thy malignity atone. 

On me be flung a double guilt! 

Spare Rokeby's blood, let mine be spilt T' 

Wycliffe had listened to his suit. 

But dread prevail' d, and he was mute. 



And now he pours his choice of fear 

In secret on Matilda's ear ; 

" An union form'd with me and mine, 

Ensures the faith of Rokeby's line. 

Consent, and all this dread array. 

Like morning dream shall pass away ! 

Refuse, and, by my duty press'd, 

I give the word — thou know'st the rest." 

Matilda, still and motionless, 

W ith terror heard the dread address, 

Pale as the sheeted maid who dies 

To hopeless love a sacrifice ; 

Then wrung her hands in agony, 

And round her cast bewilder'd eye. 

Now on the scaffold glauc'd, and now 

On Wyclitfe's unrelenting brow. 

She veil'd her face, and, with a voice 

Scarce audible, — "• I make my choice ! 

Spare but their lives ! — for aught beside, 

Let Wilfrid's doom my fate decide. 

He once was gen'rous !" — As she spoke, 

Dark Wycliffe's joy in triumph broke : — 

" Wilfrid, where loiter'd ye so late.' 

Why upon Basil rest thy weight ? — 

Art spell-bound by enchanter's wand ? — 

Kneel, knee!, and take her yielded hand ; 

Thank her with raptures, simple boy ! 

Should tears and trembling speak thy joy p"'*- 

*' O hush, my sire ! To pray'r and tear 

Of mine thou hast refus'd thine ear ; 



561 ROKKBV. rCANTOVI. 

But now the awful hour draws on, 
When truth must speak lii loftier tone.** 

XXX, 

He took Matilda's hand ; — " Dear maid, 

Couldst thou so injure me," he said, 

" Of thy poor friend so basely deem, 

As blend with him this barb'rous scheme : 

Alas ! my efforts made in vain, 

Might well have sav'd this added pain. 

But now, bear witness, earth and heaven. 

That ne'er wa-^ hope to mortal given, 

So twisted with the strings of life, 

As this — to call Matilda wife 1 

I bid it now for ever part. 

And with the effort hursts my heart." 

His feeble frame was worn so low. 

With wounds, with watching, and with woe, 

That nature could no more sustain 

The agony of mental pain. 

He kneelVl — his lip her hand had press'd, — 

Just then he felt the stern arrest. 

Lower and lower sunk his head, — 

They raised him. — but the life was fledl 

Then, first alarm'd, his sire and train 

Tried ev'ry aid, but tried in vain. 

The soul, too soft its ills to bear, 

Had left our mortal hemisphere. 

And sought in better world the meed. 

To blameless life by Heav'u decreed. 

XXXI. 

The wretched sire beheld, aghast, 
With Wilfrid all his projects past^ 
All turn'd and centred on his son. 
On Wilfrid all — and he was gone. 
" And I am childless now," lie said r 
"Childless, through that relentless maid- 
A lifetime's arts, in vain essavM, 
Are bursting on their artist's head ! — 
Here lies my Wilfrid dead — and there 
Comes hated Alortham for his heir. 



CA.\10 VI.3 ROKEBT. 

Eager to knit in happy band 

Wi^th Rokeby's heiress Redmond's band. 

And shall tlieir triumph soar o'er all 

The schemes deep-laia to w ork tlieir fall ? 

No ! — deeds, which prudence might not daro« 

Appal not vengeance and despair. 

The murd'ress weeps upon his bier — 

I'll change to real that feigned tear ! 

They all shall share destruction's shock ; - 

Ho ! lead the captives to the block!" — 

But ill his Provost could divine 

His feelings, and forbore the sign. 

" Slave ! to the block 1 — or I, or they. 

Shall face the judgment-seat this day T 

XXXII. 

The outmost cro-wd have heard a sound, 
Like horse's hoof on harden'd ground ; 
Nearer it came, and yet more near, — 
The very deaths-men paus'd to hear. 
'Tis in the churchyard now — the tread 
Hath wak'd the dwelhng of the dead ! 
P'resh sod, and old sepulchral stone, 
Return the tramp in varied tone. 
All eyes upon the gateway hung. 
When through the Gothic arch there sprung 
A horseman arm'd, at headlong speed — 
Sable his cloak, his plume, his steed. 
Fire from the flinty floor was spum'd. 
The vaults unwonted clang return'd !— 
One instant's glance around he threw 
From saddlebow his pistol drew. 
Grimly determin'd was his look ! 
His charger with the spurs he strook — 
All scattered backward as he came. 
For all knew Bertram Risingham ! 
Three bounds that noble courser gave ; 
The first has reach'd the central nave, 
The second clear'd the chancel wide. 
The third — he was at Wycliife's sidew 
Full levell'd at the Baron s head, 
Rung the report — the bullet sped — 



66ft 



566 KOKEBY. [CANTO VI, 

And to his long account, and last. 
Without a groan dark Oswald pastl 
All was so quick, that it might seem 
A flash of lightening, or a dream. 



XXXIII. 

While yet the smoke the deed conceala, 
Bertram his ready charger wheels ; 
But flounder'd on the pavement-floor 
The steed, and down the rider bore, 
And, bursting in the headlong sway. 
The faithless saddle-girths gave way. 
'Twas while he toil'd him to be freed, 
And with the rein to raise the steed, 
That from amazement's iron trance 
All Wycliffe's soldiers wak'd at once. 
Sword, halberd, musket-but, their blows 
Hail'd upon Bertram as he rose ; 
A score of pikes, with each a wound. 
Bore down and pinn'd him to the ground { 
But still his struggling force he rears, 
'Gainst hacking brands and stabbing spears; 
Thrice from assailants shook him free. 
Once gain'd his feet, and twice his knee, 
By tenfold odds oppress'd at length, 
Despite his struggles and his strength, 
He took a hundred mortal wounds. 
As mute as fox 'mongst mangling hoimda; 
And when he died, his parting groan 
Had more of laughter than of moan! 
— They gaz'd, as when a lion dies. 
And hunters scarcely trust their eyes. 
But bend their weapons on the slain. 
Lest the grim king should rouse agaiul 
Then blow and insult some renew'd, 
■ And from the tnmk, the head had heVd, 
But Basil's voice the deed forbade ; 
A mantle o'er the corse he laid : — 
" Fell as he was in act and mind. 
He left no bolder heart behind : 
Then give him, for a soldier meet, 
A soldier's cloak for windingsheet" 



CATTTO VI.] 



No more of death and dying pang, 
No more of trump and bugle clang. 
Though through the sounding woods there 
Banner and bugle, trump and drum, 
Arm'd with such powers as well had freed 
Young Redmond at his utmost need. 
And back'd with such a band of horse. 
As might less ample pow'rs enforce ; 
Possess'd of ev'ry proof and sign 
That gave an heir to Mortham s line, 
And yielded to a father's arms 
An image of his Edith's charms, — ■ 
Mortham is come, to hear and see 
Of this strange morn the history. 
What saw he ? — not the church's floor, 
Cumber d with dead and stain'd with gorc^ 
What heard he ? not the clam'rous crowd. 
That shout their gratulations loud : 
Redmond he saw and heard alone, 
Clasp'd him, and sobb'd, " My son, my son"— 

XXXV. 

This chanc'd upon a summer mom. 

When yellow wav'd the heavy com : 

But when brown August o'er the land 

Caird forth the reaper's busy band, 

A gladsome sight the silvan road 

From Eglistone to Mortham show'd. 

A while the hardy rustic leaves 

The task to bind and pile the sheaves, 

And maids their sickles fling aside. 

To gaze on bridegroom and on bride, 

And childhood's wond'ring group draws nou^ 

And from the gleaner's hand the ear 

Drops, while she folds them for a prayV 

And blessing on the lovely pair. 

'Twas then the Maid of Rokeby gave 

Her plighted troth to Redmond brave; 



567 



ROKEBY. [CANTO V] 



And Teesdale can remember yet 
How Fate to Virtue paid her deht. 
And, for their troubles, bade them prOTB 
A lengthen d life of peace and love. 



Time and Tide had thus their sway, 
"Yielding, like an Aiiril da". 
Smiling noon for sullen morrow. 
Years of joy fui houx« o( sonoiv ! 



BALLAUS. 
ITRICAL PIECES, 

SOxXQS. 



GLENFINLAS, 



LORD RONALD'S CORONACH. 



[The tradition, upon which the folloTring stanzas are fbunded, 
mns thus: While two Hi^hl.iud hunters were passing thf night in 
» solitary bothy (a hut, built tor the purpose of huiitiiig,) and 
making merry over their venigou and whisky, one of iliem ex- 
pressed a wihli, that they had pretty Usses, to complete tlieir party. 
The words were scarcely uttered, when two beautiful, vuiing wo- 
men, habited in green, entered the hut, dancing and suiging. One 
of the hunters was seduced by the syren, who altafUed herself 
particularly tu him, to leave the hut: the other remained, and, 
euspiciuus uf the fair seducers, continued to play npon a trump, or 
Jew's harp, some strain, consecrated to theV'iigin Mary. Day at 
length came, and the temptress v;iuishedL Searching in the forest, 
be found the boues ol'his unfortunate triend; who had been torn 
to pieces auid deruured by the bend, into whose toils he had fallen. 
The place was from thence called, The Glen of the Green ff^omen.} 



"For them the viewless forms of air ob<»y, , 

Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair? 

They know what spiiit bi ews the stomifnl day, 
And heartless oft, like moody madness, stare. 

To lee the phantom train their secret work prepai*.* 



** O HONE a rie' ! O hone a rie' !* 

The pride of Albin's line is o'er. 
And faH'n Glenartney's stateliest tree; 

We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more I 

O, spnmg from great Macgillianore, 
The chief that never fear'd a foe. 

How matchless was thy broad claymore, 
How deadly thine unerring bow ! 

Well can the Saxon widows tell, 
How, on the Teith's resounding shore, 

The boldest Lowland warriors fell, 
As down from Lenny's pass you bore. 

• O fume a ritf sigBifies— " Alas for the prince, or eh!«CP 



572 LORD RONALD'S 

But o'er his hills, on festal day, 

How bla/*d Lord Ronald's. Beltane tree; 

While youths and maids the light strathspw 
So nimbly danc'd, with Highland glee. 

Cheer'd by the strength of Roiiald's shell. 
E'en age forgot his tresses hoar ; 

But now the loud lament we swell, 
O, ne'er to see Lord Ronald more I 

From distant isles a chieftain came, 
The joys of Ronalds hall to find, 

And cbase with hira the dark brown game 
That bounds o'er Albin's hills of wind. 

'TAvas Moy ; whom, in Columba's isle, 
The seer's prophetic spirit found, • 

As, with a minstrel's fire the while. 

He wak'd his harp's harmonious sound. 

Full many a spell to him was known, 

Which wand'ring spirits shrink to hear; 
And many a lay of potent tone, 

Was never meant for ncortal ear. 

• 

For there, 'tis said, in mystic mood, 
High converse with the dead they hold. 

And oft espy the fated shroud. 

That shall the future corpse enfold. 

O so it fell, that on a day. 

To rouse the red deer from their den, 
The chiefs have ta'en their distant way, 

And scour'd the deep Glelifiulas glen. 

No vassals wait, their sports to aid, 
To watch their safety, deck their board : 

Their simple dress, the Highland plaid 
Their trusty guard, the Highland sword. 

Three summer days, through brake and dell, 
Their whistling shafts successful flew ; 

And still, when dewy evening fell. 
The quarry to their hut they drew. 

In grey Glenfinlas' deepest nook 
The solitary cabin stood, 



573 



Fast by Moneira's siillen brook, ' 

Which murmurs through that lonely wood. 

Soft fell the night, the sky was calm. 
When three successive days had flown; 

And summer mist in dewy balm 

Steep'd heathy bank, and mossy stone. 

The moon, half-hid in silv'ry flakes, 

Afar her dubious radiance shed, 
Quiv'ring on Katrine's distant lakes, 

And resting on Benledi's head. 

Now in their hut, in social guise, 
Their sylvan fare the chiefs enjoy; 

And pleasure laughs in Ronald's eyes, 
As many a pledge he quaffs to Moy. 

— " What lack we here to crovm our bliss, 
While thus the pulse of joy beats high? 

What, but fair woman's yielding kiss, 
Her panting breath, and melting eye? 

" To chase the deer of yonder shades. 
This morning left their father's pile 

The fairest of our mountain maids. 
The daughters of the proud Glengyle. 

" Long have I sought sweet Mary's heart. 
And dropp'd the tear, and heaved the sigh: 

But vain the lover's wily art. 
Beneath a sister's watchful eye. 

" But thou may'st teach that guardian fair. 
While far with Mary I am floAvn, 

Of other hearts to cease her care. 
And find it hard to guard her OAivn. 

" Touch but thy harp, thou soon shalt see 

The lovely Flora of Glengyle, 
Unmindful of her charge and me, 

Hang on thy notes, 'twixt tear and smile, 

" Or, if she choose a melting tale, 

All underneath the greenwood bough, 

Will good St Ora.u's rale prevail, 
Stern huntsman of the rigid brow?" 



74 LORD RONALD'S 

— *' Since Enrick's fight, since Morna'a deat]\, 

No more on me shall rapture rise, 
Responsive to the panting breath, 

Or yielding kiss, or melting eyes. 

*' E'en then, -when o'er the heath of woe, 
Where sunk my hopes of love and fame, 

1 bade my harp's wild wailings tiow, 
Ou me the seer's sad spirit came. 

" The last dread curse of angry heav'n. 

With ghastly sights and sounds of woe, 
. To dash each glimpse of joy, was giv'n — 
The gift, the future ill to know. 

" The bark thou saw*st, yon summer mom. 

So gaily part from Oban's hay, 
My eye beheld her dash'd and torn, 

Far on the rocky Colonsay. 

** Thy Fergus too — thy sister's son. 

Thou saw'st, with pride, the gallant's pow'r. 

As marching 'gainst the Lord of Downe, 
He left the skirts of huge Benmore. 

" Thou only saw'st their tartans* wave, 
As down Benvoirl'ch's side they wound, 

Heard'st but the pibroch, answ'ring brave 
To many a target clanking round. 

*' I heard the groans, I mark'd the tears, 

I saw the wound his bosom bore, 
When on the serried Saxon spears 

He pour'd his clan's resistless roan 

" And thou, who bidst me think of bliss. 
And bidst my heart awake to glee. 

And court, like thee, the wanton kiss, — 
That heart, O Ronald, bleeds for thee ! 

" I see the death-damps chill thy brow; 

1 hear thy Warning Spirit cry ; 
The corpse-lights dance — they're gone, and now— ! 

No more is giv'n to gifted eye !" 

* Tartant^Tht fall Highland dreu, made of the chequered stafl 
to termed. 



575 



— — *' Alone enjoy thy dreary dreams, 

Sad prophet of the evil hour ! 
Say, should we scorn joy's transient heaniii, 

Because to-morrow's storm may lour? 

** Or false, or sooth, thy words of woe, 
Clangillian's chieftain ne'er shall fear; 

His blood shall bound at rapture's glow. 
Though doomed to stain the Saxon spear. 

*' E'en now, to meet me in yon dell. 
My Mary's buskins brush the dew.'* — 

He spoke, nor bade the chief farewell. 
But call'd his dogs, and gay withdrew. 

Within an hour retum'd each hound; 

In rush'd the rousers of the deer; 
They howl'd in melancholy sound. 

Then closely couch beside the Seer. 

No Ronald yet ; though midnight came. 
And sad were Moy s prophetic dreams, 

As, bending o'er the dying flame, 

He fed the watch-fire's quiv'ring gleamfl. 

Sudden the hounds erect their ears, 
And sudden cease their moaning. howl; 

Close press'd to Moy, they mark their fears 
By shiv'ring limbs and stilled growL 

Untouch' d, the harp began to ring, 
As softly, slowly, oped the door ; 

And shook responsive ev'ry string. 
As light a footstep press'd the floor. 

And, by the watch-fire's glimm'ring light. 

Close by the Minstrel's side was seen 
An huntress maid, in beauty bright, 

All dropping wet her robes of green. 
All dropping wet her garments seem ; 

Chill d was her cheek, her bosom bare, 
As, bending o'er the dying gleam, 

She wrung the moisture from her hair. 

With maiden blush she softly said, 
O gentle huntsman, hast thou 



616 LORD RONALD'S 

In deep Glenfinlas' moon-light glade, 
A lovely maid in vp«t of green : 

" With her a chief in Highland prido 
His shoulders bear the hunter's bow. 

The mountain dirk adorns his side. 
Far on the wind bis tartans How ?" 

" And who art thou ? and who are they?*^ 
All ghastly gazing, Moy replied : 

" And why, beneath the moon's pale ray 
Dare ye thus roam Glentinlas' side ?" 

*' Where wild Loch Katrine pours her tide, 
BKie, dark, and deep, round many an isle 

Our fatlier's tow'rs o'erhang her sid.., 
The castle of the bold Glengj-le. 

" To chase the dun Glenfinlas deer, 

Our woodland course this morn we bore, 

And haply met, while wand'ring here, 
The son of great Macgillianore. 

" O aid me, then, to seek the pair, 
WJhom, loit'ring in the woods, I lost ; 

Alone I dare not venture there, 

Where walks, they say, the shrieking gliost.' 

"Yes, many a shrieking ghost walks there; 

Then, first, my own t^ad vow to keep, 
Here will I pour my midnight pray'r, 

"Which still must rise when mortals sleep.** 
" O first, for pity's gentle sake. 

Guide a lone wand'rer on her way ! 
For I must cross the haunted brake, 

And reach my father's tow'rs ere day.*' 

" First, three times tell each Ave bead, 

And thrice a Pater-noster say; 
Then kiss with me the holy reed : 

So shall we safely wind our way." 

*' O shame to knighthood, strange and foul t 
Go, doff the bonnet from thy brow, 

And shroud thee in the monkish cowl. 
Which best befits thy sullen vow. 



£71 



** Not so, by high Dunlathmon's fire, 
Thy heart was froze to love and joy, 

When gaily rung thy raptur'd lyre, 
To wanton Morna's melting eye." 

Wild star'd the Minstrel's eyes of flame," 
And high bis sable locks arose, 

And quick his colour went and came, 
As fear and rage alternate rose. 

" And thou ! when by the blazing oak 
I lay, to her and love resign'd. 

Say, rode ye on the eddying smoke, 
Or sail'd ye on the midnight wind ! 

" Not thine a race of mortal blood, 
Nor old Glengyle's pretended line ' 

Thy dame, the Lady of the Flood, 
Thy sire, the Monarch of the Aline.** 

He mutter'd thrice St Oran'a rhyme, 
And thrice St Fillan's pow'rful prayer ; 

Then turn'd him to the eastern clime. 
And sternly shook his coal-black hair. 

And, bending o'er his harp, he flung 
His wildest witch-notes on the wind ; 

And loud, and high, and strange, they run 
As many a magic change they hnd. 

'iall wax'd the Spirit's alt'ring form, 
Till to the roof her stature grew; 

Then, mingling with the rising storm, 
With one wild yell, away she flew. 

Rain beats, liail rattles, whirlwinds tear : 
The slender hut in fragments flew ; 

But not a lock of Moy's loose hair 
Was wav'd by wind, or wet by dew. 

Wild mingling with the howling gale. 
Loud bursts of ghastly laughter rise ; 

High o'er the Minstrel s head they sail. 
And die amid the northern skies. 

The voice of thunder shook the wood, 
As ceas'd the more than mortal yell; 
2b 



578 KVE OF SAINT JOHN. 

And, spattering foul, a shower of blood 
Upon the hissing firebrands fell. 

Next, dropp'd from high a mangled arm ; 

The hngers straiu'd an half-drawn blade : 
And last, the life-blood streaming warm, 

Torn from the trunk, a gasping head. 

Oft o'er that head, in battling field. 

Streamed the proud crest of high Benmoraj 

That arm the broad claymore could wield. 
Which d/d the Teith with Saxon gor«. 

Woe to Moneira's sullen rills ! 

Woe to Glentinlas' dreary glen ! 
There never son of Albin's hius 

Shall dra'w the hunter s shaft agen 1 

E'en the tir'd pilgrim's burning feet 

At noon shall shun that shelt'ring den. 
Lest, journeying in their rage, he meet 

The wayward Ladies of the Glen. 
And we — behind the chieftain's shield, 

No more shall we in safety dwell ; 
None leads the people to the field — 

And we the loud lament must swelL 

O hone a rie'! O hone a rie'I 
The pride of Albin's line is o'er. 

And fall'n Glenartney's stateliest tree ; 
We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald mors 



THB 

EVE OF SAINT JOHN. 

The Baron of Smaylho'me rose vdth day, 

He spurr'd his courser on, 
Without stop or stay, down the rocky ymj 

That leads to Brotherstone. 

He went not with the bold Buccleudl, 
His banner broad to rear; 



BVE OF SAINT JOHN. 679 

He went not 'gainst the English yew, 
To lift the Scottish spear. 

Yet his plate-jack* was brac'd, and his helmet 
was lac'd, 

And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore ; 
At his saddle- gerthe was a good steel sperthe, 

Full ten pound weight and more. 

The Baron retum'd in three days' space, 

And his looks were sad and sour ; 
And weary was his courser s pace, 

As he reach'd his rocky tower. 

He came not from where Ancram Moor 

Ran red with English blood ; 
Where the Douglas true, and the bold Buccleuch, 

'Gainst keen lord Evers stood. 

Yet was his helmet hack'd and hew'd, 

His acton pierc d and tore ; 
His axe and his dagger with blood embru'd, 

But it was not English gore. 

He lighted at the Chapellage, 

He held him close and still ; 
And he whistled thrice for his little foot-page, 

His name was English WiU. 

" Come thou hither, my little foot-page ; 

Come hither to my knee ; 
Thou art young, and tender of age, 

I think thou art true to me. 

** Come, tell me all that thou hast seen, 

And look thou tell me true ! 
Since I from Smaylho'me tow'r have been, 

What did thy lady do .»" 

" My lady, each night, sought the lonely light, 
That burns on the wild Watchfold ; 

For, from height to height, the beacons bright 
Of the English foemen told. 

" The bittern clamour'd from the moss. 
The wind blew loud and shrill ; 

• The plato-jack is coat armour; the vaunVbraoBkOrTram-bCMra^ 
cxmoar for the body ; the sperthe, a battle-tua. 



680 EVE OF SAINT JOHN. 

Yet the craggy pathway sho did cross, 
To the eiry beacon hill. 

" I watchM her steps, and silent came 

Where she sat her on a stone ; 
No watchman stood by the dreary flame; 

It burned all alone. 

" The second night I kept her in sight, 

Till to the fire she came. 
And, by Mary's might ! an armed Knight 

Stood by the lonely flame. 

" And many a word that warlike lord 

Did speak to my lady there ; 
But the rain fell fast, and loud blew the blast^ 

And 1 heard not what they were. 

" Tlie third night there the sky was fair, 

And the mountain blast was still. 
As again I wafch'd the secret pair, 

On tlie lonesome beacon hill. 

" And I heard her name in the midnight hoTV) 

And name this holy eve ; 
And say, ' Come this night to thy lady's bower,' 

Ask no bold Baron's leave. 

" ' He lifts his spear with the bold Buccleuch; 

His lady is all alone; 
The door she'll undo to her knight so true, 

On the eve of good St John.' 

" ' I cannot come ; I must not come ; 

I dare not come to thee ; 
On the eve of Saint John I must wander alone : 

In thy bower I may not be.' 

"• ' Now, out on thee, faint-hearted knight! 

Thou should' st not say me nay; 
For the eve is sweet, and when lovers meet, 

Is worth the whole summer's day. 

" * And I'll chain the blood-hound, and the 'wardcf 
shall not sound. 
And rushes shall be strew'd on the stair ; 



EVE OF SAINT JOHN. 581 

80, by the black rood-stone,* and by boly St John, 
I conjure tliee, my love, to be there !' 

" ' Though the blood-hound be mute, and the rush, 
beneath my foot, 
And the wanler his bugle should not blow, 
Yet there sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the 
east, 
And my foot-step he would know.' 

" ' O fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the east) 
For to Dryburgh the way he has ta'en ; 

And there to sa>- mass, till three days do pass, 
For the soul of a knight that is slayne.' 

"He tum'd him around, and grimly he frown'd; 
1'hen he laugh'd right scornfully — 
He who says the mass-rite for the soul of that 
knight, 
May as well say mass for me. 

** * At the lone midnight hour, when bad spirits 
have pow'r. 

In thy chamber will I be.' — 
With that he was gone, and my lady left alone, 

And no more did I see." — 

Then changed, I trow, was that bold Baron's brow. 
From the dark to the blood-red high ; 

" Now, tell me the mien of the knight thou hast 
seen. 
For, by Mary, he shall die !" 

*' His arms shone full bright, in the beacon's red 
light : ^ 

His plume it was scarlet and blue ; 
On his shield was a hound, in a silver leash bound. 

And his crest was a branch of the yew," 

" Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot-page, 

Loud dost thou lie to me ! 
For that knight is cold, and low laid in the mould. 

All under the Eildon-tree."i' 

* riie bUfk-rood of Melrose was a crncUix of black marble, and 
et superior Siiiiotity. 

■♦ Kiiil'iti-tref is said to be the spot where Thomas the Rhymef 
Ottered bis propbeciiM. 



582 



EVE OF SAINT JOHN, 



" Yet hear but my word, my noble lord ! 

For I heard her name his name ; 
And that lady bright, she called the knight. 

Sir Richard of Coldinghame." 

The bold Baron's brow then changed, I trow. 

From high blood-red to pale — 
" The grave is deep and dark — and the coi-pse is 
stiff and stark— 

So I may not trust thy tale. 

" Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose, 

And Eildon slopes to the plain, 
Full three nights ago, by some secret foe, 

That gay gallant was slain. 

'^ The varying light deceived thy sight, 
And the wild winds drowned the name ; 

For the Diyburgh bells ring, and the white monks 
do smg. 
For Sir Richard of Coldinghame !" 

He pass'd the covirt-gate, and he op'd the tow*x 
grate, 
And he mounted the narrow stair 
To the bartizan-seat, where, with maids that on 
her wait, 
He found his lady fair. 

That lady sat in mournful mood ; 

Look'd over hill and dale ; 
Over Tweed s fair flood, and Mertoun's ■wood. 

And all down Teviotdale. 

" Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright T' 

'* Now hail, thou Baron true ! 
What news, what news, from Ancram fight? 

What news from the bold Buccleuch ? 

" The Ancram Moor is red with gore. 

For many a southern fell ; 
And Buccleuch has charged us, evermore 

To watch our beacons well." 

"The lady blush'd red, but nothing she said ; 
Nor added the Baron a word : 



EVE OF SAINT JOHN. 683 

Then she stepp'd down the stair to her chamber fair, 
And so did her moody lord. 

In sleep the lady mourn'd, and the Baron toss'd 
and turn'd, 

And oft to himself he said — 
"The worms around him creep, and his bloody 
grave is deep .... 

It cannot give up the dead !" 
It was near the ringing of matin-bell, 

The night was well nigh done, 
When a heavy sleep on that Baron fell. 

On the eve of good St John. 

The lady look'd through the chamber fair, 

By the light of a dying flame ; 
And she was aware of a knight stood there — 

Sir Richard of Coldinghame ! 

*' Alas ! away, away !" she cried, 

" For the holy Virgin's sake !" 
** Lady, I know who sleeps by thy side; 

But, lady, he will not awake. 

" By Eildon-tree, for long nights three, 

In bloody grave have I lain ; 
The mass and the death-pray'r are said for me. 

But, lady, they are said in vain. 

" By the Baron's brand, near Tweed's fair strand, 

Most foully slain 1 fell ; 
And my restless sprite on the beacon's height. 

For a space is doom'd to dwell. 

" At our trysting-place,* for a certain space 

I must wander to and fro ; 
But I had not had pow'r to come to thy bow*r, 

Had'st thou not conjur'd me so." 

Love master'd fear — ^her brow she cross'd ; 

" How, Richard, hast thou sped ? 
And art thou sav'd, or art thou lost ?" 

The Vision shook his head I 

** Who spilleth life, shall forfeit life 
So bid thy lord believe : 



584- CADYOW CASTLE. 

That lawless love is guilt above. 

This awful siga receive." 
He laid liis left palm on an oaken beunj 

His right upou her hand : 
The lady shrunk, and fainting sunk, 

Fcr it scorch"d like a tiery brand. 

The sable score, of fingers four, 
Iteniains on that boaid iinpress''d; 

And for evermore that lady wore 
A cov'ring on her wrist. 

There is a Nun in Dryburgh bower^ 

Ne'er looks upon the sun : 
There is a Monk in Melrose tower, 

He speaketh word to none. 

That Nun, who ne'er beholds the day, 
That Mook. who speaks to none — 

That Nun was Smaylho'me's Lady gay. 
That Monk the bold Baron. 



CADYOW CASTLE. 

AO0RBS6SD TO 
THE BIOHTHONOURABLB 

LADY ANNE HAM! LI ON 

fin detailing the death of the regpiit Murray, which is onarle'i!* 
subject ">t tli»"7ii'il'>uiiit[ ballail, it wnuUI he iiijii.stice to my ceai.ct 
til use othn wonls than thuse of l)i Hobeitsou, whose account oi 
that ineiiioraiile evf ut torinsa be<iutiful piece ot liistorical painting, 

'•Hamilton of Bothwelltiaugti was the person \v\i<, committed 
this barliainus action. He had been conclenined to death Sf)on 
aftor the l^attle oJ Langside. as we have ah-eady reluttd, und owi-d 
his life to the regent's clenienry. But part of his estate had been 
bestou ed upon one of tlie regent's favourites, who seized his house, 
and turned out his wife naked, in acoM night, uito the optn fields, 
whefe. before next morning. #lie t.ecaine furiously mad This in- 
jury made a deeper im|ire9.-ion on bin than tlie benefit hi; had re- 
ceiv. d. and fro.n that moment he vowe 1 to bi- r -xenjjed of ihe re- 
gent. Party r;>tre st reus 'In-neil ;md inflamed his privale lesent- 
inent. His' kinsmen, the Uamiltoos. npiilmded the ent-rprise. 
The n»:ixims of that age justiiied the m<5>t desperte course he 
could take to obtain vengeance. He fill weit tlie regent forsomv 
time, and watclied for an iiipiu-tun:ty lo strike the bl>w He ro. 
lolved, at last, to wait till tliit eueuiy should arrive at LinliLb^otTi 



CADYOW CASTLE. 585 

througfa \rhich he was to pass, in his way from Stilling to R>lin> 
burg-li. Me took liis slaiid in a wooiien ff;iliery, wlii.jl. Iiail « «iii- 
dow tovrar is the street ; spieail a teather-bed <ni toe rt.>oi, lit hin 
dei the n lise <it" liit feet finiu bt-mg he-iid ; huii„' ny a hl.irk clotl 
beliiiiii hiui, ih.it liissiiadiiiv iiujjht cmi bo otiserved limu wilhoult 
an. I, ,tfr-i all this rrHi..iratioii, culimy experted llie regents ap- 
pio.ii-h, whu had loj ed. during th^ niabi, in a honse not tar Ji»> 
tant, Foine ill isiwirt lUtf rniaiioii .it tlie iliUi^T, win h ili'fateu- 
ed hitn, na.I bei D r. nveved to rhe r<-^eiit. an I tie paid «.> iiiiu h ro 
gaii to it, thai lie resolved to return by the same gote tliiou({h 
WtuJli he had entered, and to fei>-h a conii'a>,s round the t.wn. 
But, us the crowd about the gate was gieat, and he hini-elf iiiiao 
qiiainte.l with fear, lie proceeded dirivtly along the str-«i. ; and the 
thr.in^ of people oblii^ing him to uiioe very slowly, pave tlia 
assassin time tn take .-o true au »iin, that he shot hin, vrith i* 
•iugle hulieu thr«ugh tli.- lower part ot his belly, and kdhd the 
honie of a geiitlent tn, who rode o i his other side. His followeri 
insiaiuly endeavonrei t.' bre ik into the hoii-e, whence the bow 
had . oine : but they found the lioor stro i^ly b;'.rricaded, an I, be- 
fore il cuiilii be for<;ed open. Ilamiltnu had mounted a f)^.-et horsa, 
which stood leady fir him nt a bick pa..saa-e, and was got far be- 
yond their rea. h. The regentdied thesaine'uiKhtof liis wound."— 
BUtuiy of Scotland, book v.] 

When princely Hamilton's abode 

Ennohl'd Cadyow's GotWc tow'rs, 
The song went round, the goblet llow'd. 

And revel sped the laughing hours. 

Then, thrilling to the harp's gay sound. 

So sweetly rang each vaulted wall, 
And echo'd light the dancer's bound. 

As mirth and music cheer'd the hall. 

But Cadyow's tow'rs, in ruins laid, 

And vaults, by i\7^ mantled o'er, 
Thrill to the music of the shade, 

Or echo Evan's hoarser roar. 

Yet still, of Cadyow's faded fame. 

You bid me tell a minstrel tale. 
And tune my harp, of* Border frame. 

On the wild banks of Evandale. 

For thou, from scenes of courtly pride, 
From pleasure's lighter scenes, caast caiB, 

To draw oblivion's pail aside. 

And mark the long forgotten urn. 

Then, noble maid ! at thy command. 
Again the crumbled halls shall rise ; 

Lo ! as on Evan's banks we stand. 
The past returns — the prese; '". 
2b 



586 CAPYOW CASTLE, 

Where with the rock's v/ood-cover'd side 
Were blended late the ruins green, 

Rise turrets in fantastic pride. 

And feudal banners flaunt between : 

Where the rude torrent's brawling course 
Was shagg'd with thorn and tangling sloi^ 

The ashler buttress braves its force, 
And ramparts frown in battled row. 

'Tis night — the shade of keep and spiro 
Obscurely dance on Evan's stream, 

And on the wave the warder s fire 
Is chequering the moon-light beam. 

Fades slow their light ; the east is gi*ey ; 

The weary Avarder leaves his tow r; 
Steeds snort ; uncoupl'd stag-hounds bay, 

And merry hunters quit the bow'r. 

The draw-bridge falls — they hurry out — 
Clatters each plank and swinging chain, 

As, dashing o'er, the jovial route 

Urge the shy steed, and slack the rein. 

First of his troop, the Chief rode on : 
His shouting merry-men throng behind ; 

The steed of princely Hamilton 

Was fleeter than the mountain wind. 

From the thick copse the roe-bucks bound, 

The startling red-deer scuds the plain; 
For, the hoarse bugle's warrior sound 
j Has rous'd their moimtain haunts again. 

I Through the huge oaks of Evandale, 

Whose limbs a thousand years have worn, 
What sullen roar comes down the gale, 
And drowns the hunter's pealing horn? 

Mightiest of all the beasts of chace, 
That roam in woody Caledou, 

Crashing the forest in his race. 

The Mountain Bull comes thund'ring on. 

Fierce, on the hunters' quiver'd band, 
He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow. 



CADYOW CASTIE. 687 

Spurns, with black hoof and horn, the sand. 
And tosses high his mane of snow, 

Aim'd well, the chieftain's lance has flown ; 

Struggling in blood the savage lies ; 
His roar is sunk in hollow groan — • 

Sound, meny huntsmen ! sound the pry$e !* 
'Tis noon — against the knotted oak 

The hunters rest the idle spear ; 
Curls through the trees the slender smoke, 

Where j'eomen dight the woodland cheer. 

Proudly the chieftain mark'd his clan, 
On greenwood lap all careless thrown, 

Yet miss'd his eye the boldest man. 
That bore the name of Hamilton. 

''• Why fills not Bothwellhaugh his place, 
Still wont our weal and woe to share ? 

Why comes he not our sport to grace ? 
Why shares he not our hunter's fare ?" 

Stem Claud replied, with dark'ning face, 
(Grey Pasley's haughty lord was he) 

" At merry feast, or buxom chace. 
No more the warrrior shalt thou see. 

" Few suns have set, since Woodhouselee 
Saw Bothwellhaugh' s bright goblets foam, 

When to his hearths, in social glee, 
The war-worn soldier tum'd him home. 

" There, wan from her maternal throes. 

His Marg'ret, beautiful and mild, 
Sate in her bow'r, a pallid rose. 

And peaceful nurs'd her new-bom child, 

" O change accurs'd ! past are those days • 
False Murray's ruthless spoilers came. 

And, for the hearth's domestic blaze, 
Ascends destruction's volum'd flame. 

" "V\Tiat sheeted phantom wanders wild. 

Where mountain Eske through woodland flows, 

Her arms enfold a shadowy child — 
Oh, is it she, the pallid rose ? 
• Pryie—Tho note blown at the death of the gsin«. 



588 CADYOW CASTI.K. 

" The wilderM trav'ller sees her tyliil©. 
And hears her feeble voice with awe — • 

•Revenge,' she cries, 'on iMurrav's pride! 
And woe for injur'd Bothweilhaugh!'*' 

He ceas'd — and cries of rage and grief 
Burst mingling from the kindred band. 

And half arose the kindling Chief. 
And half unsheath'd his Arran brand. 

But who, o'er hush, o'er stream, and rock, 
Rides headlong, with resistless speed, 

Whose bloody poniard's frantic stroive 
Drives to the leap his jaded steed; 

Whose cheek is pale, whose eye- balls glare, 
As one, some vision'd sight that saw, 

Whose hands are bloody, loose his hair;' — 
— 'Tis he ! 'tis he ! 'tis Bothwellhaugh ! 

From gory selle,* and reeling steed, 

Spi-ung the fierce horseman with a bound, 

And, reeking from the recent deed, 
He dash'd his carbine on the ground. 

Sternly he spoke — " 'Tis sweet to hear, 
In ffood green- wood, the bugle blown; 

But sweeter to Revenge's ear. 
To drink a tyrant's dying groan. 

" Your slaughter'd quarry proudly trode, 
At dawning morn, o'er dale and down. 

But prouder base-born Murray rode 

Through old Linlithgow's crowded toAvn 

" From the Avild Border's humbled side, 
In haughty triumph, marched he, 

While Knox relax'd his bigot pride, 
And smil'd, the trait'rous pomp to see. 

" But, can stern Pow'r, with all his vaunt. 
Or Pbmp, with all her courtly glare, 

The settled heait of Vengeance daunt, 
Or change the purpose of Despair ? 

« SeVe—Sa.dA\& A word oaed by Spencer and otbt 
athort. 



CAPrOW CASTLE. 5B9 

* With hackbut hent,* my secret stand 
D.-i'.k as the purpos'd deed, I chose. 

And tnarkM, where, mingline^ in his band, 
Troop'd Scottish pikes and English bows, 

"Dark Morton, girt with many a spear, 

Murder's foul minion, led tlie van ; 
And clash'd their broad-swords in the rear. 

The wild Macfarlanes' plaided clan. 

*' Glencairn and stout Parkhead were nigh, 

Obsequious at their Regent's rein, 
And haggard Lindesay's iron eye. 

That saw fair Mary weep in vain. 

*'Mid pennon'd spears, a steely grove. 
Proud Murray's plumage floated high; 

Scarce could his trampling charger move, 
So close the minions crowded nigh. 

" From the rais'd visor's shade, his eye, 
Dark-rolling, glanc'd the ranks along, 

And bis steel tniucbeon, wav'd on high, 
Seein'd marshalling the iron throng. 

" But yet his sadden'd brow confess'd 

A passing sliade of doubt and awe; 
Some (ienn was whisp'rin? in his breast, 

' Beware of injur'd Bothwellhaugh T 

*' The death-shot parts — the charger springs- 
Wild rises tumult's startling roar! — 

And Murray's piumy helmet rings — • 
— Rings on the ground, to rise no more. 

" What joy the raptnr'd youth can feel, 

To hear her love the lov'd one tell. 
Or he, -who broaches on his steel 

The wolf, by whom his infant fell ! 

'• But dearer to my injurM eye. 

To see in dust proud Murray roll ; 
And mine was ten times trebled joy 

To hear him groan his felon soul. 

"My Marg'ret's spectre elided near; 
With pride her bleeding victim saw; 

» Hackbut beVit — titu>co«ked. 



590 TIIK GRKY BROTHKR, 

And sluiekM in his death-deafen'd ear, 
' Reraeml)er iiijur'd Bothweilhaugh f 

"Then speed thee, noble Chatlerault ! 

Spread to the wind thy banner'd treo ! 
Each warrior bend his Clydesdale bow !- 

Murray is falTii, and Scotland free." 

Vaults ev'ry warrior to his steed ; 

Loud bugles join their wild acclaim — 
*' Murray is falTn, and Scotland freed ! 

Couch, Arran 1 coucli thy spear of flame f 

But, see ! the Minstrel vision fails — 

The glimm'ring spears are seen no more ; 

The sh^ts of war die on the gales, 
Or sink in Evan's lonely roar. 

For the loud bugle, pealing high, 

The blackbird whistles down the vale. 

And sunk in ivied ruins lie 

The banner'd tow'rs of Evandale. 

For chiefs, intent on bloody deed. 

And Vengeance, shouting o'er the slain, 

Lo ! high-born Beauty rules the steed. 
Or graceful guides the silken rein. 

Ajid long may Peace and Pleasure own 
The maids, who list the Minstrel's tale; 

Nor e'er a ruder guest be known 
On the fair banks of Evandale. 



THE GREY BROTHER. 

A FRAGATENT. 

CThe tradition, upon which tliis ftagment is founded, regards a 
house, upon the bvirony of Gilmerton, near I.aswadu, in Mid 
Lothian. This building, now called Gilinerton-Grange, was for- 
merly nnined BurndaJe, from the following- tragic adventure. The 
barony of GUmorton belonged, of vore, to a gentlem.m, named 
Heron, who had one beautiful daughter. This young lady waa 
•educed by the abbot of Newbottle, a richly endowed abbey, upon 
the banks of the South Esk, now a seat of the marquis of Lothian. 
Heron came to the knowledge of this circumstance, and learned, 
tlso, that the lovers carried on their guOty intercours* by tb« 



•mE ORKV UKOTHElt. 591 

eontriranceof Ibe lady's nurse, whoUved at this Imuse. nf Gilmer- 
ton-Grauge, or Bunidale. )ip formed a resoluriou of bl<">dy ven- 
geance, undeterred by the supposed sanctity of the clerical t-tiarao- 
ter, or by the stronger claims of natur^il aifection. Choosing, 
therefore, a dark and ^vindy night, when the objects of liis ven- 
geance were engaged in a stolen interview, he set tiro to ^ stack 
of dried thorns, ami other combustibles, which be had caused to 
be piled against tlie hnuBft, and reduced to a pile of glowing ashes 
the dwelliiig, with all it» inmates. 

The scene, with which the ballad opens, was suggested by the 
following curious punsage, extracted fnim the lite of Alexander 
Peden, one ot the wandering and persecuted uachers of the seit 
of Cameroiiians, during the reign of Charles II., and his successor, 
James, •' About the same time he (Peden) came to Andrew Nur- 
mand'S house, in the parish of AUoway, in the shire of Avj-, being 
to preach at night inhis barn. After became in, he halted a little, 
leaning upon a chiiir-back, with his face covered ; when he lifted 
up his head, ha said, ' There are in this hou=e that I have noi one 
word of salvation unto ;' he halted a little again saying, "This is 
stiauge, thai the devil wiil not go out, that we may begin our 
work I' Then there was a woman went out, ill looked upon al- 
most all her life, and to her dying hour, for a witch, with many 
presumptions of the same. It escaped me, in the firmer passages, 
that John Muirhead (whom I have often mentioned) t'lUi me, that 
when he came from Ireland to Galloway, he was at family- worship, 
and giving some notes upon the scripture, when a very ill-looking 
man came, and sate down wiihin the door, at the back of the ha^ 
Ian (partition of the cotta^ie:) immediately he halted, and said, 
* There is some unhappy body just now come into this house, I 
charge him to go out, and not stop my month 1' The person went 
out, and be iTirtited (went on), yet he saw him neither come in nor 

§0 out." — The Life and Prophecies of Mr Alexander Peden, laU 
_ linitter of the Gospel at Ifevii Olenluce, in Galloway, part ii. 
sec 26.J 



The Pope he was saying the high, high mass. 

All on saint Peter's day. 
With the pow'r to him giv'n, by the saints in heav'n, 

To wash men's sins away. 

The Pope he was saying the blessed mass, 

And the people kueei'd around ; 
And from each man's soul his sins did pass. 

As he kiss'd the holy ground. 

And all, among the crowded throng, 

Was still, both limb and tongue, 
While through vaulted roof, and aisles aloof, 

The holy accents rung. 

At the holiest word he quiver'd for fear, 

And faulter'd in the sound — 
And, when he would the chalice rear. 

He diopp'd it on the ground. 



692 THE GREY BROTH Eft. 

*' The breath of one, of evil deed. 

Pollutes our sacred day ; 
He has no portion in our creed, 

ho part iu what I say. 

" A being, whom no blessed word 

To gho^-tly peace can bring ; 
A wretch, at whose approach abhorr'd, 

Recoils each holy thing. 

" Up, up, unhappy ! haste, arise . 

Aly adjuration fear! 
I charge thee not to stop ray voice, 

Jv'or longer tarry here !" 

Amid them all a Pilgrim kneel'd, 

In gown of sackcloth gray : 
Far journeying from his native field. 

He first saw Rome that day. 

For forty days and nights so drear, 

I ween, he had not s])oke. 
And, save with bread and water clear, 

His fast he ne'er had broke. 

Amid the penitential Hock, 

Seeni'd none more bent to pray. 
But, when the Holy Father spoke, 

He rose, and went his way. 

Again unto his native land. 

His weaiy course he drew. 
To Lothian's fair and fertile strand, 

And Pentland's mountains blue. 

His unblest feet his native seat. 

Mid Eske's fair woods, regain ; 
Through woods more fair no stream more sweet 

Rolls to the eastern main. 

And Lords to meet the Pilgrim came. 

And vassals bent the knee ; 
For all mid Scotland's chiefs of f&me, 

\Vas none more fam'd than he. 

And boldly for his country still. 
In battle he Imd stood. 



THE GUET BUOTHER. 693 

Aye, e'en -when, on the banks of Till, 
Her noblest jviar'a iheir blood. 

Sweet are the paths, O, passing sweet I 

By Eske's fair streams that run. 
O'er airy steep, through copsewood deep. 

Impervious to the sun. 

There the rapt poet's step may rove, 

And yield the muse the day : 
There Beauty, led by timid Love, 

May shun the tell-tale ray ; 

From that fair dome, where suit is paid 

By blast of bugle free. 
To Auchendinny s hazel glade. 

And haunted Woodhouaelee. 

Who knows not Melville's beechy grove, 

And riosliu's rocky glen, 
Dalkeith, which all the virtues love, 

And classic Hawthornden? 

Yet never a path, from day to day. 

The Pilgrim's footsteps range, 
Save but the solitary way 

To Burudale's ruined Grange. 

A woeful place was that, I ween. 

As sorrow could desire; 
For, nodding to the fall was each crumbling vail, 

And the roof was scath'd with tire. 

It fell upon a summer's eve, 

AVhile, on Caruethy's head. 
The last faint gleams of the sun's low beams 

Had streak 'd the grey with red; 

And the convent bell did vespers tell, 

Newbottle's oaks among. 
And mingled with the solemn knell 

Our Lady's evening song : 
The heavy knell, the choir's faint swell, 

Came slowly down the v;ind. 
And on the Pilgrim's ear they fell. 

As his wonted path he did find. 



594 THE GREY BROTHBH. 

Deep sunk in thought, I ween, he vms. 

Nor ever raised his eye, 
Until he came to that dreary plac«, 

Which did all in ruins lie. 

He gaz'd on the walls, so scath'd with fire. 

With many a bitter groan — 
And there was aware of a Grey Friar, 

Resting him on a stone. 

*' Now, Christ thee save !" said the Grey Brother 

" Some pilgrim thou seem'st to be ;" 
But in sore amaze did Lord Albert gaze, 

Nor answer again made he. 

" O come ye from east, or come ye from west, 

Or bring reliques from over the sea. 
Or come ye from the shrine of Saint James the divino, 

Or Saint John of Beverley.?" 

"I come not from the shrine of Saint James the divine. 

Nor bring reliques from over the sea ; 
I bring but a curse from our father, the Pope, 

Which for ever will cling to me." 
" Now, woeful Pilgrim, say not so ! 

But kneel thee down by me. 
And shrive thee so clean of thy deadly sin. 

That absolved thou may'st be." 

*' And who art thou, thou Grey Brother, 

That I should shrive to thee. 
When he, to whom are giv'n the keys of earth and 
heav'n. 

Has no pow'r to pardon me ?" 

" O I am sent from a distant clime. 

Five thousand miles away. 
And all to absolve a foul, foul crime, 

Done here 'twixt night and day." 

Tlie Pilgrim kneel'd him on the sand« 

And thus began his saye — 
When on his neck an ice-cold hand 

Did that Grey Brother laye. 



THOUAS THE RHTMKR 

THOMAS THE RHYMER. 

IN THREE PARTS. 



595 



[Fkw personages are so reno^vned in tradition as Thomas of 
Erceldoune, known by the appellation of The Rhymer. It i» 
agreed, on all hands, that the residence, and probably the birth 
place, of this ancient bard, was Erceldoune, a village situate upon 
the Leader, two miles above its junction with the Tweed. The 
ruins of an ancient tower are still pointed out as the Rhymer's castle. 
The uniform tradition bears, that his sirname was Lermont, or 
Learmont ; and that the appellation of The Rhymer was conferred 
on him in consequence of his poetical compositions. There remains, 
neverthfless, some doubt upon this subject. 

We are better able to ascertain the period, at which Thomas of 
Erceldoune lived ; bein^ the l.itter end of thfi thirteenth century. 
Tt cannot be doubted, that Thomas of Erceldoune was a remarkable 
and important person in his own time, since very shortly after his 
deatli, we find him celebrated as a prophet, and as' a poet. Whether 
he himself made any pretensions to the first of these characters, 
or whether it was gratuitously conferred upon him by the credu- 
lity of posterity, it seems difficult to decide. The popular tale 
bears, that Thomas was carried off, at an early age, to the Fairy 
Land, where he acquired all the knowledge, wliich made him 
afterwards so famous. After seven years' residence he was per- 
mitted to return to the earth, to enlighten and astonish his coun- 
trymen, by his prophetic powers ; still, however, remaining bound 
to return to his royal mistress, when she should intimate her 
pleasure. Accordingly, while TTiomas was making merry with 
Lis friends, in the tower of Erceldoune, a person came running !q, 
and told, with marks of fear and astonishment, that a hart and 
hind had left the neighbouring forest, and were composedly and 
slowly parading the street of the village. The prophet instantly 
arose, left his habitation, and followed the %vonderful animals to 
the forest, whence he was never seen to return. 

The following ballad, is given from a copy, obtained from a lady, 
residing'not far from Erceldoune, corrected and enlarged by one in 
Mrs Brown's MSS. To this old tale the author has ventured to 
add a Second Part, consisting of a kind of Cento, from the printed 
prophecit-s vulgarly ascribed to the Rhymer ; and a Third Part, 
entirely modem, founded upon the tradition of his having returned 
with the hart and Idnd, to the Lamd of Faerio.] 

PART FIRST. 



True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank ; 

A ferlie he spied \rC his e'e ; 
And there he saw a ladye bright, 

Come riding down by the Eildon Trea. 
Her shirt was o' the grass-green silk, 

Her mantle o* the velvet fyne ; 



596 THOMAS THE RHYHB8. 

At ilka tett of her horse's mane. 
Hang tifty siller bells ami nine. 

True Tliomas, he puU'd aff his cap. 
And louted lov. down to his knee, — • 

"All hail, thou mighty queen of Leaven I 
For thy peer on earth I never did sec " 

"O no, O no, Thomas," slie said ; 

"That name does not belang to me; 
I am but the queen of fair Kltiaiid, 

That am hither come to visit thee. 

" Harp and carp, Thomas,'' she said ; 

'"• Hai-p and carp along with me; 
And if ye dare to kiss my lips. 

Sure of your bodie I will be." 

" Betide me w-eal, betide me woe, 
I'hat weird* shall never danton me." 

Syne he has kiss'd her rosy lips. 
All underneath the Eildon Tree. 

" Now, ye maun go wi' me," she said ; 

"True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me; 
And ye maun t:erve me seven years, 

Through weal or woe as may ciiance to be,** 
She mounted on her milk-white steed ; 

She's ta'en true Thomas up behind ; 
And aye, whene'er her bridle rung. 

The steed flew swifter than the wind. 

O they rade on, and farther on ; 

The steed gaed swifter than the wind; 
Until they reach'd a desart wide. 

And living land was left behind. 

" Light down, light do^m, now, true Thomas, 
And lean your head upon my knee 

Abide, and rest a little s})ace. 

And I will shew you ferlies three. 

'* O see ye not yon naiTow road. 

So thick l)eset with thorns and briert^ — 

That is the path of righteousness, 
Though after it but few enquires. 

• That weird, 4'c — That destiny shall never frigbtflo iwh 



THOMAS THE RUTMEB» 597 

" And see not ye that braid, braid road« 

That lies across tliat lily Icven?— 
That is the |iath of wickeiiuess. 

Though some call it the road to heaven. 

" And see not ye t'lat bonny road, 
That wiiuls about the fernie brae? — 

That is the roa<I to lair KlHaiul, 

Where^thou and 1 this night maun gae. 

" But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue. 

Whatever ye may hear or see 
For, if you speak word in Eillyn land, 

Ye'll ne'er get back to your ain countrie." 

they rade on, and farther on, 

And they waded through rivers aboon the knee, 
And they saw neither sun nor moon, 
But they heard the roaring of the sea. 

It was mirk, mirk night, and there was nae etarn 
light, 

And they waded through red biude to the knee , 
For a' the biude, that's shed on earth, 

Rins through the springs o' that countrie. 

Syne they came on to a garden green. 
And she pu'd an apple frae a tree — 

" Take this for thy wages, true Thomas ; 

It will give thee the *ongue that can never lie.** 

" My tongue is mine ain," true Thomas said; 
'" A gudely gift ye wad gie to me I 

1 neither dought to buy nor sell, 

At fair or tryst, where I may be. 

" I dought neither speak to prince or peer. 

Nor ask of grace from fair ladye." 
"Now hold thy peace 1" the ladye said, 

*' For, as I say, so must it be." 

He has gotten a coat of the even cloth. 
And a pair of shoes of velvet green ; 

And, till seven years were gane and past 
Tiue Thomas ou earth was never seen. 



598 THOMAS THE RHYMER. 

PART SECOND. 

ALTERED FROM ANCIENT PROPBECIES. 

CCoriyatrick (Comes Patrick), earl of March, but more 
taking Dis title from his castle of Dunbar, acted a noted part duriug 
the wars of Edward I. in Scotland. As Thomas of Erceldoane U 
said to have delivered to him his famnus f>roiihecy of king Alex> 
ander's death, the author has chosen to introduce him iuto the 
foUo%ring ballad. All the prophetic verses are selected from Hart'i 
publication of the Bbymer'a predictions primed at Edinburgh 
A.-D. 1615.] 

Whek seven years were come and gane, 
The sun blink'd fair on pool and stream ; 

And Thomas lay on Huntlie bank, 
Like one awaken 'd from a dream. 

He heard the trampling of a steed, 

He saw the flash of armour flee. 
And he beheld a gallant knight, 

Come riding down by the Eildon Tree. 

He was a stalwart knight, and strong ; 

Of giant make he 'pear'd to be : 
He stirr'd his horse, as he were wode, 

Wi' gilded spurs, of faushion free. 

Says— "Well met, well met, true Thomas! 

Some uncouth ferlies shew to me." 
Says — "• Christ thee save, Corspatrick brave I 

Thrice welcome, good Dunbar, to me ! 

" Light down, light down, Corspatrick brave, 

And I will shew thee curses three. 
Shall gar fair Scotland greet and grane. 

And change the green to the black livery. 

" A storm shall roar, this very hour. 
From Rosse's Hills to Solw>y sea," 

" Ye lied, ye lied, ye warlock hoar ! 

For the sun shines sweet on fauld and lea.*' 

He put his hand on the earlie's head ; 

He shew'd him a rock, beside the sea, 
"Where a king lay stiff, beneath his steed,* 

And steel-dight nobles wip'd their e'e. 



THOMAS THE KUYMEJEU 689 

** The neist curse lights on Branxton Hills : 
By Flodden's high and heathery side, 

Shall wave a banner, red as blude, 
And chieftains throng wi' meikle pride, 

" A Scottish king shall come full keen; 

The ruddy lion beareth he : 
A feather'd arrow sharp, I ween. 

Shall make him wink and warre to Bee. 
" When he is bloodv, and all to bledde, 

llius to his men ke still shall say — 
' For God's sake, turn ye back again. 

And give yon southern folk a fray ! 
Why should 'I lose the right is mine? 

Aly doom is not to die this day.'* 
" Yet turn ye to the eastern hand, 

And woe and wonder ye sail see ; 
How forty thousand spearmen stand, 

Where yon rank river meets the sea. 
** There shall the lion lose the gylte, 

And the libbards bear it clean away; 
At Pinkyn Cleuch there shall be spilfc 

Much gentil blude that day." 

" Enough, enough, of curse and ban ; 

Some blessing shew thou now to rae, 
Or, by the faith o' my bodie," Corspa trick said, 

" Ye shall rue the day ye e'er saw me !" 

" The first of blessings I shall thee shew, 
Is by a burn, that's called of bread ;+ 

Where Saxon men shall tine the bow. 
And find their arrows lack the head. 

" Beside that brigg, out-ower that bum. 

Where the water bickereth bright and sheen. 

Shall many a falling courser spurn, 
And knights shall die in battle keen. 

♦ The ancertidnty which long prevailed in Scotland conceruinf 
the fate of Jame« IV., is well known. 
t One of Thomas's rhymes, preserved by tradition, runs thus : 
" The burn of brfid 
Shall run fow reid." 
Bannock-bum is the brouk here meant. The Scots give the nam 
<.' hannock, to a thick round cake of unleavened bread. 



600 IHOMAS THE RHTMKR. 

" Besido a headless cross of stone. 

The libbards there shall lose the gree: 

The raven shall come, the erne shall go, 
And drink the Saxon blood sae free. 

The cross of stone they shall not know, 
So thick the corses there shall be." 

" But tell me now," said brave Dunbar, 
" True Thomas, tell now unto me, 

What man shall rule the isle Britain, 

Ev'n from tha north to the southern gea ?" 

*' A French queen shall bear the son. 
Shall rule all Britain to the sea: 

He of the Bmce's blude shall come. 
As near as in the ninth degree, 

" The waters worship shall his race ; 

Likewise the waves of the farthest sea ; 
For they shall ride ower ocean wide, 

With hempen bridles, and horse of tree.** 



PART THIRD. 

MODGRN. 

When seven years more had come and gone, 
Was war through Scotland spread, 

And Ruberslaw show'd high Dunyon 
His beacon blazing red. 

Then all by bonny Coldingknow, 
Pitch' d palliouns took their room, 

And crested helms, and spears a rowe, 
Glanc'd gaily through the broom. 

The Leader, rolling to the Tweed, 

Resounds the eusenzie ;* 
They rous'd the deer from Caddenhead, 

To distant Torwoodlee. 
The feast was spread in Ercildoune, 

In Learmont s high and ancient hall ; 

• J?nre7Wtc.— War-cry, or frath«ring woH. 



TIIOMAS TUE RnVMER. 60 

And there were knights of great renown, 
And ladieb, luced in pall. 

Nor lack'd tliey, while they sat at diue, 

The music, uor the tale. 
Nor goblets of the blood-red wine, 

Nor mantling quaighs* of ale. 

True Thomas rose, with harp in hand. 

When as the feast was done ; 
(In minstrel strife, in Fairy Land, 

The el.'in harp he won.) 

Hush'd were the throng, both limb and tongue, 

And harpers for envy pale; 
And armed lords leanM on their swords. 
And hearken'd to the tale. 

In numbers high, the witching tale 

The prophet pour'd along ; 
No after hard might e'er avail 

, Those numbers to prolong. 

Yet fragments of the lofty strain 

Float down the tide of years. 
As, buoyant on the stormy main, 

A parted wreck appears. 

He sung K ing Artnur's tu^le round : 

The warrior of the lake ; 
IIow courteous Gawaine met the wound. 

And bled for ladies* sake. 

But chief, in gentle T.'istrem's praise. 

The notes melodious swell ;i' 
Was none excell'd in Arthur's days, 

The knight of Lionelle. 

For Marke, his cowardly uncle's right, 

A veuom'd wound he bore ; 
When herce Morljolde he slew in light, 

Upon the Irish shore. 

No art the poison might withstand; 
No med'cine could be found, 

* Quaigfts.— Wooden cipa, coinposod of ?tavec hornxxt tnff«th«r 

+ AlluJiiig to Tliumas the Khymt-i's ceieora'trd i 
Trulreui. 

2c 



602 THOMAS THE RHTMBK. 

Till lovely Isolde's lily hand 
Had prob'd the rankling wound. 

With gentle hand and soothing tongue, 

She bore the leech's part ; 
And, while she o'er his sick-bed hung. 

He paid her with his heart. 

O fatal was the gift, I ween ! 

For, doom'd in evil tide, 
The maid must be rude Cornwall's queen» 

His cowardly uncle's bride. 

Their loves, their woes, the gifted bard 

In fairy tissue wove ; 
Where lords, and knights, and ladies bright, 

In gay confusion strove. 

The Grarde Joyeuse, amid the tale, 
High rear'd its glittering head ; 

And Avalon's enchanted vale 
In all its wonders spread. 

Brengwain was there, and Segramore, 
And fiend-born Merlin's gramarye ; 

Of that fam'd wizard's mighty lore, 
O who could sing but he ? 

Through many a maze the winning song 

In changeful passion led. 
Till bent at length the list'ning throng 

O'er Tristrem's dying bed. 

His ancient wounds their scars expand ; 

With agony his heart is wrung : 
O where is Isolde's lily hand. 

And where her soothing tongue ? 

She comes, she comes ! like flash of flame 

Can lovers' footsteps fly : 
She comes, she comes ! she only came 

To see her Tristrem die. 

She saw him die : her latest sigh 
Join'd in a kiss his parting breath t 

The gentlest pair that Britain hare 
United are in death. 



THOMAS THE RUTUER. 608 

There paus'd the harp ; its lingering sound. 

Died slowly on the ear; 
The silent guests still bent around. 

For still they seem'd to hear. 

Then woe broke forth in mnrmijrs weak 

Nor ladies heav'd alone the sigh ; 
But, half asham'd, the rugged cheek 

Did many a gauntlet dry. 

On Leader's stream, and Learmont's tovr'p. 

The mists of evening close; 
In camp, in castle, or in bow'r, 

Elach warrior sought repose. 

Lord Douglas, in his lofty tent. 

Dream 'd o'er the woeful tale ; 
When footsteps light, across the bent, 

The warrior's ears assail. 

He starts, he wakes : — " What, Richard, ho 

Arise, my page, arise ! 
What vent rous wight, at dead of night. 

Dare step where Douglas lies !" 

Then forth they rushed : by Leader's tide, 

A selcouth* sight they see — 
A hart and hind pace side by side. 

As white as snow on Faimalie. 

Beneath the moon, with gesture proud. 

They stately move and slow ; 
Nor scare they at the gath'ring crowd, 

Who marvel as they go. 

To Learmont's tow'r a message sped, 

As fast as page might run ; 
And Thomas started from his bed, 

And soon his clothes did on. 

First he woxe pale, and then woxe red ; 

Never a word he spake but three ; — ■ 
" My sand is run ; my thread is spun; 

This sign regardeth me." 

The Elfin harp his neck aroimd, 
lu minstrel guise, he hung; 

« Selcout?i—Woaieo\iB, 



604 TIIOMAS THE miVMER, 

And on the winrl, in doleful sounil, 
Its dying accents rung. 

Tljen forth lie went ; yet turuM him oft 

To view his ancient liall ; 
On the grey tow'r, id lustre soft, 

Tlie autumn inoon-heaius tall. 

And Leader's vaves, like silver sheen, 

DaiicM shimm'iing in the ray: 
In ileejruing mass, at distance seen, 

liroad Switra s niountams lay. 

*' Farewell, ray father's ancient tow'rl 

A long farewell," said he: 
*' The scene of pleasure, i>omp, or powV, 

Thou never more shall be. 

**To Learmont's name no foot of earth 

Shall here again belong. 
And on thy hospitable hearth 

The hare shall leave her young. 

" Adieu I Adieu !" again he cried, 

All as he turn'd him roun' — 
"Farewell to Leader's silver tidel 

Farewell to Ercildoune I" 

The hart and hind approach'd the place. 

As ling'ring yet he stood ; 
And there, before L'ord Douglas' face, 

With them he cross'd the Hood. 

Lord Douglas leap'd on his herry-browu steed« 
And spurr'd him the Leader o'er; 

But, thougli he rode with lightning s^peed. 
He never saw them more. 

Some said to hill, and some to glen, 
Tlieir wondrous course had bean; 

But ne'er in haunts of living men 
Again was Ttioxnas 



TOS FIRE-EINO. 60) 



THE FIRE-KING. 

' Tk« t>tMtln|^ of tb» •vfl Genii, which are curs«s, were upoq 
titm." Eastern Tule, 



CTIiU ballad ivas written at the request of Mr LKwrs. to be ii» 
«ert»?d ill his •' Tales of W'liiiier.'" It is the tliirrt in a series of four 
balla Is. on the suhject of Kl>>mciitary Spirits. The story is, ho<\'. 
ever, paitlv histeirical ; for it is recordeil, that, during the 8trnt;s;Ie« 
of ihf Latin kintfioin "f Jerusalem, a kiiiuht-teinplir, ca'led Saint* 
Alb in, dese ted to the Saracens, and ilefeateil the Christians in 
many cninhHts. till he was liiiiilly routed and sliiiii, iu a condick 
tvjth King Baldwin, under the tvaU^ of Jerusalem.] 

Bold knights anil fair daraes, to my harp give an ear. 
Of love, and of war, and of wonder to hear; 
And you haply may sigh, iu the midst of your glee, 
At the tale of Count Albert, and fair Rosalie. 

O see you that castle, so strong aud so high ? 
And see you that lady, the tear in her eye ' 
And see you that palmer, from F*alestine's land. 
The shell on his hat, and the stall in his hand? — 

" Now palmer, grey palmer, O tell unto me. 
What news bring you home from the Holy Countrie? 
And how goes the warfare by (ralilee's strand ? 
And how fare our nobles, the ilow'r of the laud? 

" O well goes the warfare by Galilee's wave. 
For Giiead. and Nablous, and Ramah we have; 
And well fare our nobles by Mount Lebanon, 
For the Heathen have lost, and the Christians have 
■won,'* — 

A fair chain of gold 'mid her ringlets there hung; 
O'er the palmer's grey locks the fair chain hm she 

iiuug : 
*' Oh palmer, grey palmer, this chain be thy fee. 
For the news thou hast brought from the Holy 

Countrie. 

" O palmer, good palmer, by Galilee's wave, 
O saw ye Count Albert, the gentle and brave? 
When the Crescett went back, aud the lled-erosa 

rush'd oa, 
O taw y« him foremost on Mount LebaooQ ?"— 



GOG THE FIRE-KINQ. 

" O lady, fair lady, the tree green it grows; 
O lady, fair lady, the stream pure it nows ; 
Your castle stands strong, and your hopes soar on high 
But lady, fair lady, all blossoms to die. 

" The green boughs they wither, the thunderbolt falls, 
It leaves of your castle but levin-scorched walls ; 
The pure stream runs muddy ; the gay hope is gone ; 
Count Albert is pris'ner on Mount Lebanon." — 

O she's ta'en a horse, should be fleet at her speed ; 
And she's ta'en a sword, should be sharp at her need ; 
And she has ta'en shipping for Palestine's land, 
To ransom Count Albert fiom Soldanrie's hand. 

Small thought had Count Albert on fair Rosalie, 
Small thought on his faith, or his knighthood, had he ; 
A heathenish damsel his light heart had won, 
The Soldan's fair daughter of Mount Lebanon. 

"Oh Christian, brave Christian, my love would'st 

thou be, 
Three things must thoii do ere I hearken to thee : 
Our laws and our worship on thee shalt thou take ; 
And this thou shalt first do for Zulema's sake. 

" And, next, in the cavern, where burns evermore 
The mystical flame which the Curdmans adore, 
Alone, and in silence, three nights shalt thou wake ; 
And this thou shalt next do for Zulema's sake. 

" And, last, thou shalt aid us with council and hand, 
To drive the Frank robber from Palestine's land •, 
For my lord and my love then Count Albeit I'll take 
When all this is accomplish'd for Zulema's sake."- 

He has thrown byhis helmet and cross-haiinled sword, 
Renouncing his knighthood, denying his Lord ; 
He has ta'en the green caftan, and turban put on. 
For the love of the maiden of fair Lebanon. 

And in the dread cavern, deep deep under ground, 
Which fifty steel gates and steel portals surround. 
He has watch'd until day-break, but sight saw he noue, 
Sa\'e the flame burning bright on its altar of stone. 

Amaz'd was the princess, the soldan amaz'd, 

Sore munnur'd the priests as on Albert they gax'd ^ 



THE FIRE-KINQ. 607 

They search'd all his garments, and, under his weeds 
They found, and took from him, his rosary beads. 

Again in the cavern, deep deep under ground, 

He watch'd the lone night, while the winds whistled 

round ; 
Far off was their murmur, it came not more nigh. 
The flame burn'd uumov'd,and nought else did he spy. 

Loud murmur 'd the priests, and amaz'd was the king, 
While many dark spells of their witchcraft they sing ; 
They search'd Albert's body, and, lo ! on his breast 
Was the sign of the Cross, by his father impress'd. 

The priests they erase it with care and with pain, 
And the recreant return' d to the cavern again ; 
But, as he descended, a whisper there fell ' — 
It was his good angel, who bade him farewell ! 

High bristled his hair, his heart flutter'd and beat, 
And he turn'd him five steps, half resolv'd to retreat ; 
But his heart it was hardened, his purpose was gone, 
When he thought on the maiden of fair Lebanon. 

Scarce pass'd he the archway, the threshold scarce trod, 
When the winds from the four points of heav'n wer« 

abroad ; 
They made each steel portal to rattle and ring. 
And, borne on the blast, came the dread Fire- King. 

Full sore rock'd the cavern whene'er he drew nigh. 
The fire on the altar blaz'd bick'ring and high ; 
In volcanic explosions the mountains proclaim 
The dreadful approach of the Monarch of Flame. 

Unmeasur''d in height, undistinguish'd in form, 
His breath it was lightning, his voice it was storm ; 
I ween the stout heart of Count Albert was tame, 
When he saw in his terrors the Monarch of Flame. 

In his hand a broad falchion blue-glimmer' d through 

smoke, 
And Mount Lebanon shook as the monarch he 

spoke : — 
** With this brand shalt thou conquer, thus long, and 

no more. 
Till thou bend to the Cross, and the Virgin adore." 



OUp rilE FIRE-KINO. 

The cloud-shroude(1 arm gives the Aveapon; and, seo 
The recreant receives the charrnM gift on his knee: 
The thunders growl distant, and faint gleam thetireSj 
As, borne on his whirlwind, the Phantom retires. 

Count Albert has arm'd him the Paynim among. 
Though his heart it was false, yet his arm it waa 

strong; 
And the Red-cross -wax'd faint, and the Crescent 

came on, 
From the day he commanded on Mount Lebanon. 

From Lebanon's forests to Galilee's wave, 

The sands of Samaar drank the blood of the brsve; 

Till the K nights of the Temple, and Knights of Saint 

J ohn, 
AVith Salem's King Baldwin, against him came on. 

The war-cjrmbals clatter'd, the trumpets replied, 
The lances were-couch'd, and they cios'd on each 

side ; 
And horsemen and horses Count Albert o'erthrew. 
Till he piercd the thick tumult King Baldwin unto. 

Against the charm'd blade which Count Albert did 

wield 
The fence had been vain of the King's Red-cross 

shiehi ; 
But a Page thrust him forward the monarch before, 
And cleft the proud turban the renegade wore. 

So fell was the dint, that Count Albert stoop'd low 
Before the cross'd shield, to his steel saddie-bow ; 
And scarce had he bent to the Red-cross his head,— 
"■ Bonne yrace, notre X>ame," he unwittingly said. 

Sore sigh'd the charm'd sword, for its virtue was o'er, 
It sprung from his grasp, and was never seen more ; 
But true men have saiil, that the lightning's red wing 
Did waft back the brand to the dread Fire-King. 

He clench'd his set teeth, and his gauntletted hand ; 
He stretch'd, with one buft'et, that Page on the stiand ; 
As back from the stripling the broken casque roU'd, 
You might 6«e the blue eyes, and the ringlets of gold. 



FREDERICK AND ALICE. 609 

Short time had Count Albert in horror to stare 

On those death-swimrahig eye-balls, and blood- clotted 

hair ; 
For down came the Templars, like Cedron in flood. 
And dyed their long lances in Saracen blood. 

The Saracens, Curdnians, and Ishmaelites yield 
To the s^callop, the saltier, and crossletted shield; 
And the eagles were gorg'd with the intidel dead, 
From Bethsaida's fountains to Naphtali's head. 

The battle is over on Bethsaida's plain, — 
Oh, who la you Paynim lies stretch'd 'mid the slain? 
And who is yon Page lying cold at his knee? — 
Oh, who but Count Albert and fair Rosalie. 

Tlie Lady was buried in Salem's bless'd bound, 
The Count he was left to the vulture and hound: 
Her soul to high mercy Our Lady did bring ; 
His went on the blast to the dread Fire-King. 

Yet many a minstrel, in harping, can tell, 
How tbe Red Cross it conquer' d, the Crescent it k-W; 
And lords and gay ladies have sigiVd, 'mid their giee, 
At the tale of Count Albert and fair Rosalie. 



FREDERICK AND ALICE. 

[Tliis tale is imitited, rather than trauslate'l, fri)i>i a frutrment 
liitrodiii:e(l in Onelhe's '-Clauiiiiia vo:i Viliu Bi-Uci," when- it \i sung 
by a inmntier ofn gang of bHiidittl, to eii)^<ki« tlis- attention of ilia 
family, wliiie liis coinpuuion-i break into tbe c.t^tle.J 

Frkd'rick leaves the land of Fiance, 
Homewards hastes his steps to measure; 

Careless casts the parting glance, 
On the scene of former pleasure ; 

Joying in his prancing steed, 

keen to prove his untried blade, • 

Hope's gay dreams the soldier lead 

Over mountain, moor, and glade. 

Helpless, ruin'd, left forlorn, 
Lovely Alice wept alone ; 
2c2 



610 FREDEIUCK .VJiD ALlCBi 

Moum'd o'er love's fond contract torn, 
Hope, and peace, and honour flown. 

Mark her breast's convulsive throbs I 
See, the tear of anguish flows I — 

Mingling soon with bursting sobs. 
Loud the laugh of frenzy rose. 

Wild she curs'd, and wild she pray'd ; 

Sev'n long days and nights are o'er; 
Death in pity brought his aid, 

As the village bell struck four. 

Far from her, and far from France, 
Faithless Fred'rick onward rides ; 

Marking, blithe, the morning's glance 
Mantling o'er the mountain's sides. 

Heard ye not the boding sound. 
As the tongue of yonder tow'r 

Slowly, to the hills around, 

Told the fourth, the fated hour? 

Starts the steed, and snuffs the air. 
Yet no cause of dread appears ; 

Bristles high the rider's hair. 
Struck with strange mysterious fears. 

Desp'rate, as his terrors rise. 
In the steed the spur he hides ; 

From himself in vain he flies ; 
Anxious, restless, on he rides. 

Sev'n long days, and sev'n long nights, 
Wild he wander'd, woe the while ! 

Ceaseless care, and causeless fright. 
Urge hia footsteps many a mile. 

Dark the sev'nth sad night descends ; 

Rivers swell, and rain-streams pour ; 
While the deaf'ning thunder lends 

All the terrors of its roar. 
Weary, wet, and spent with toil, 

Where his head shall Fred'rick hideP 
Where, but in yon ruined aisle, 

By the lightning's flash descried. 



FREDEEICIi AND ALICE. 611 

To the portal, dank and low. 

Fast his steed the wand'rer bound ; 
Down a ruin'd staircase slow, 

Next his darkling way he wound. 

Long drear vaults before him lie ; 

Glimm*ring lights are seen to glide ! — 
" Blessed Mary, hear my cry ! 

Deign a sinner's steps to guide !" — 

Often lost their quiv'ring beam, 

Still the lights move slow before, 
Till they rest their ghastly gleam 

Right against an iron door. 

Thund'ring voices from within, 

Mix'd with peals of laughter, rose; 
As they fell, a solemn strain 

Lent its wild and wondrous cloae ! 

'Midst the diu, he seem'd to hear 

Voice of friends, by death remov'd; — 

Well he knew that solemn air, 
'Twas the lay that Alice lov'd. — 

Hark ! for now a solemn knell 

Four times on the still night broke; 

VouT times, at its deaden'd swell. 
Echoes from the ruins spoke. 

As the lengthen'd clangours die, 

Slowly opes the iron door 1 
Straight a banquet met his eye. 

But a funeral's form it wore ! 

Coffins for the seats extend ; 

All Avith black the board was spread ; 
Girt by parent, brother, friend. 

Long since numbered with the dead ! 

Alice, in her grave-clothes bound, 

Ghastly smiling, points a seat ; 
All arose, with thund'ring sound ; 

All th' expected stranger greet. 

High their meagre arms they wavn. 
Wild their notes of welcome swell ; — 



&I2 THE WILD HUNTSMEH. 

** Welcome, traitor, to the grave ! 
Perjur'd, bid the light farewell?*' 



THE WILD HUNTSMEN. 

[Tins is a translation, or rather an imitation, of the ff^liU Jaget 
bi the German poet Burger. The craJition upon whjcli it is foiuid- 
ed hears, that toruierly a Wildgiave, or keeper ut a ruyai loieiit. 
named Kalkenburah, was so much a.ldicied lo the pitasures iii the 
chase, and otherwise so extremely protiig.ite and <;rut-L that he 
not only followed this iinliallowed 'imnseiiienl on the S..bbath« 
and other days consecrated to veliipous duty, hut aci-4inii><ii>ieil 
it with the most uiiheurd-ot opprekiiiou upon the poor pt-osaiilA, 
who were under liis vassalage. When this second Ninirod died, 
thi- people adopted a superstirion, tounded probably on the many 
various uncouth sounds heard lo the depth of a Gerin.;n unrest, 
during the silence of the niglit. They conceived they stili heard 
titt crv of the WildifraveV bounds^ and the well-known cheer irf 
t)>e deceased huitter. the sounds of hiy iiorses' feet, and the rust* 
ling of tne branches before the gauie, the pack, and tlie sportsmen* 
are alflo distinctly discriminated ; but the piiantoms are i'ar<!4y, ii 
ever, visible.] 

The Wildgrave winds his bugle horn. 

To horse, to horse ! halloo, halloo ! 
His Hery courser snuffs the nioru. 

And thronging serfs their lord pursue. 

The eager pack, from couples freed, 

Dash through the bush, the brier, the brake i 

While answ'ring hound, and horn, and steed, 
The mountain echoes startling wake. 

The beams of God's own hallo w'd day- 
Had painted yonder spire with gold, 

And, calling biaful man to pi-ay. 

Loud, loiig, and deep, the bell had toll*d . 

But still the Wildgrave onward rides ; 

Halloo, halloo! and, hark again! 
When, spurring from opposing sidea, 

Two Stranger Horsemen join the train. 

Who was each Stranger, left and right. 
Well may 1 guess, but dare not tell ; 

The right-hand "steed was silver white^ 
The left, th« swarthy hue of hell. 



TTIE WILD nUiNTSMEN. 6!8 

The nght-liand horseman, young and fair. 
His smile was like the morn of May; 

Tlie left, from eye of tawny glaie. 
Shot midnight liglituing's lurid ray. 

lie wav'd Ids huntsman's cap on high. 
Cried, " Welcome, welcome, nohle lord! 

What sport on earth, or ^ea, or sky, 
To match the princely cha^e, afiord?" 

"Cease thy hmd hugle's clanging knell,** 
Cried the fair youth, with silver voice; 

"And for devotion's choral swell. 
Exchange the rude unhallow'd noise. 

"To-day, th' ill-omen'd chase forbear, 
Yon bell yet sunmious to the fane; 

To-day the \\'arning Spirit hear. 

To-morrow tlicu may'st mourn in vain.'* 

"Away, and sweep the glades along!" 

The Sable Hunter hoarse replies; 
"To mutt'ring monks leave matin-song, 

And bells, and books, and mysteries." 

The Wildgrave spnrr'd his ardent steed, 
And. launching forward v.ith a bound, 

" Who, for thy drowsy priestlike rede. 
Would leave the jovial horn and hound? 

" Hence, if our manly sport offend ! 

U'ith pious fools go chant and pray: — 
Well hast thou spoke, my dark-brow'd friend; 

Halloo, halloo ! and, hark away !" 

The Wildgrave spurr'd his courser light. 
O'er moss and moor, o'er holt and hill; 

And on the left, and on the right. 

Each Strar.ger Horseman follow'd still. 

Up springs, from yonder tangl'd thorn, 
A stag more white than mountain snow; 

And louder rung the Wildgjave'^ horn, 
"• Hark forward, forward ! holla, ho f* 

A heedless wretch has cross'd the way ; 
He gas^b, the thund'ring hoofs below ;— ' 



614 



THE WILD UUNTSMEW. 



But, live 'wlio can, or die who may, 
Still, " Forward, forward !" on they go. 

See, where yon simple fences meet, 

A field with autumn's blessings crown'd* 

See, prostrate at the Wildgrave's feet, 
A husbandman, with toil embrown'd : 

•• mercy, mercy, noble lord ! 

Spare the poor's pittance," was his cry, 
" Earn'd by the sweat these brows have pour'd. 

In scorching hour of fierce July." — 

Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads. 
The left still cheering to the prey ; 

Th' impetuous Earl no warning heeds 
But furious holds the onward way. 

" Away, thou hound ! so basely born, 
Or dread the scourge's echoing blow 1'* — 

Then loudly rung his bugle horn, 

" Hark forward, forward, holla, ho !" 

So said, so done : — A single bound 

Clears the poor labourer's huin})le pale ; 

Wild follows man, and horse, and hound. 
Like dark December's stormy gale. 

And man, and horse, and hound, and horn, 
Destructive sweep the field along ; 

While, joying o'er the wasted corn, 

Fell Famine marks the madd'ning throng. 

Again up-rous'd, the tim'rous prey 

Scours moss, and moor, and holt, and hill 

Hard run, he feels his strength decay, 
And trusts for life his simple skill. 

Too dangerous solitude appear'd ; 

He seeks the shelter of the crowd, 
Amid the flock's domestic herd 

His harmless head he hopes to shroudL 

O'er moss, and moor, and holt, and hill, 
His track the steady blood-hounds trace ; 

O'er moss and moor, unwearied still, 
The furious Earl pursues the chase. 



THE WILD HUNTSMEN. 615 

Full lowly did the herdsman fall ; — 

" O spare, thou noble Baron, spare 
These herds, a widow's little all ; 

These flocks, an orphan's fleecy care." 

Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads. 

The left still cheering to the prey ; 
The Earl nor pray'r nor pity heeds. 

But furious keeps the onward way. 

— " Unmanner'd dog ! To stop my sport 
Vain were thy cant and beggar wnine, 

Though human spirits, of thy sort. 

Were tenants of these canion kine T — 

Again he winds his bugle horn, 

" Hark forward, forward, holla, ho T' 

And through the herd, in rutkless scorn 
He cheers his furious hounds to go. 

In heaps the throttled victims fall ; 

Do"\vn sinks their mangl'd herdsman near; 
The murd'rous cries the stag appal, — 

Again he starts, new-nerv'd by fear. 

With blood besmear'd, and white with foam. 
While big the tears of anguish pour, 

He seeks, amid the forest's gloom, 
The humble hennit's hallow'd bow'r. 

But man, and horse, and horn, and hound, 

Fast rattling on his traces go ; 
The sacred chapel rung around 

With, " Hark away ! and, holla, ho T* 

All mild, amid the route profane. 
The holy hermit pour'd his pray'r ; — 

" Forbear with blood God's house to stain ; 
Revere his altar, and forbear ! 

" The meanest brute has rights to plead, 
Which, wrong'd by cruelty, or pride. 

Draw vengeance on the ruthless head :— 
Be wam'd at length, and turn aside." 

Still the Fair Horseman anxious pleads ; 
The Black, wild whooping, points the prey .— 



616 rilK WILD HUNTSMEN. 

Alas! tlie Earl no warning heeds. 
But frantic keeps the forward way. 

" Holy or lot, or right or wrong. 
Thy altar, and its rites, 1 spurn; 

Not saiutfd martyrs' sacred song. 

Not God himself, shall make nie turuP 

He spurs his horse, he winds his horn, 
•" Hark fonvard, forward, holla, lio f* — 

But off, on whirlwind's pinions home, 
The stag, the hut, the hermit, go. 

And horse, and man, and horn, and tiound^ 
And clamour of the chase, was gone ; 

For hoofs, and howls, and hugle sound, 
A deadly silence reign'd alone. 

Wild gaz'd the affrighted Eail around; 

He strove in vain to wake his horn; 
In vain to call ; for not a sound 

Could frona his anxious lips he borne. 

He listens for his trusty hounds; 

No distant baying reach'd his ears : 
His courser, rooted to the ground. 

The quick'ning spur uiunindful bears. 

Still dark and daiker frown the shades, 
Dark, as the darkness of the grave ; 

And not a sound thfe still invades. 
Save what a distant torrent gave. 

High o'er the sinner's humhTd head 
At length the solemn silence broke; 

And, from a cloud of swarthy red. 
The awful voice of thunder spoke. 

" Oppressor of creation fair ! 

Apostate Spirits' harden'd tool I 
Scorner of God ! Scourge of the poor! 

The measure of thy cup is full. 

" Be chas'd for ever through the wood; 

For ever roam the affrighted wild; 
And let thy fate instruct th.e proud, 

(iod's meauest creature is his child-** — 



THE WILD HUNTSMEN. 617* 

Twas hosh'd : One flash, of sombre glaie, 
With yellow ting'd the forests brown ; 

Up rose the Wildei-ave's bristling hair, 
And horror chilT'd each nerve and bone. 

Cold pour'd the sweat in freezing rill; 

A rising wind began to sing ; 
And louder, louder, louder still, 

Brought storm and tempest on its wing. 

Earth heard the call ;— Her entrails rend : 
From yawning rifts, with many a yell. 

Mix'd with sulphureous flames, ascend 
The misbegotten dogs of hell. 

What ghastly Huntsman next arose, 
Well may I guess, but dare not tell ; 

His eye like midnight lightning glows, 
His steed the swarthy hue of hell. 

The Wildgrave flies o'er bush and thorn. 
With many a shriek of helpless woe ; 

Behind him hound, and horse, and horn, 
And, " Hark away, and holla, lio !" 

With wild despair's reverted eye, 

Close, close behind, he marks the throng 

With bloody fangs, and eager cry ; 
In frantic fear he scours along. — 

Still, still shall last the dreadful chase, 

Till time itself shall have an end : 
By day, they scour earth's cavern'd spaeo» 

At midnight's witching hour, ascend. 
This is the horn, and hound, and horse. 

That oft the lated peasant hears ; 
Appall' d, he si^s the frequent cross, 

when the wdd din invades his eaiB. 
The wakeful priest oft drops a tear 

For human pride, for human "woe, 
When, at his midnight mass, he hears 

The infernal cry of, " Holla, bo T' 



618 WAR SONO. 

WAR SONG 



ROYAL EDINBURGH LIGHT DRAGOONS^ 

WRITTEN DURING THE APPREHENSION OK AN INVASIOW. 

To horse ! to horse ! the standard flies. 

The bugles sound the call; 
The Gallic navy stems the seas. 
The voice of Battle's on the breeze, 

Arouse ye, one and all ! 

From high Dunedin's tow'rs we come, 

A band of brothers true ; 
Our casques the leopard's spoils surround, 
With Scotland's hardy thistle crown'd ; 

We boast the red and blue.* 

Thouffh tamely crouch to Gallia's frown. 

Dull Holland's tardy train ; 
Their ravish'd toys though Romans mourn. 
Though pliant Switzers vainly spurn, 

And, teaming, gnaw the chain ; 

O ! had they mark'd th' avenging call 

Their brethren's murder gave, 
Disunion ne'er their ranks had mown, 
Nor patriot valour, desp'rate grown, 

Sought freedom in the grave ! 
Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head. 

In Freedom's temple born, 
Dress our pale cheek in timid smile. 
To hail a master in our isle, 

Or brook a victor's scorn? 

No ! though destruction o'er the land 

Come pouring as a flood, 
The sun, that sees our falling day. 
Shall mark our sabres* deadly sway. 

And set that night in blood. 

• The Royal Coloow. 



TiiE NOU'IAN HOliSE-SHOB. 

For gold let Gallia's legions fight, 

Or plunder's bloody gain ; 
Unbrib'd, unbought, our swords we draw, 
To euard our King, to fence our Law, 

Nor shall their edge be vain. 

If ever breath of British gale 

Shall fan the tri-color. 
Or footstep ol iuvader nvie. 
With rapine foul, and red with hlood. 

Pollute our happy shore, — 

Then farewell home I and farewell friends I 

Adieu each tender tie ! 
Resolv'd, we mingle in the tide, 
Where charging squadrons furious ride. 

To conquer, or to die. 

To horse ! to horse ! the sabres gleam ; 

High sounds our bugle call ; 
Combin'd by honour's sacred tie, 
Our word is, Zatt-s and Libertvl 

March forward, one and allT 



619 



THE NORMAN HORSE-SHOE. 



[The Welch, Inhabiting a mouutainons country, and posseKslrig 
•nly an inferior breed ot horses, ivere usaally unable to encounter 
the shock of the Anglo-Norman cavalry. Occasionally, however, 
they w^re successful in repelling the invaders; and the foUowirtif 
verses are supposed to celebrate a defeat of Ci.arr, E^rl of Stri- 
guil and Pembroke, and of Nevili.b, Baron of Chepstow, Lords- 
Marchers of Monmonthshire. Rymny U a stream which dividrs 
the counties of Monmouth and Glamorgaat Caerphili, the sce-ne i f 
the supposed battle, is a vale upon its bankfl^ dlgmlied by the ruins 
ot a very ancient castle. 

Air — ^The Wap-song of the Maa of Otamorgai' 

I. 

Red glows the forge in Striguil*s bonnds. 
And hammers din, and anvil sounds, 
And armourers, with iron toil, 
Barb many a steed for battle's broil. 



620 THE NORMAN HOKSB-SHOB. 

Foul fall the hand which hends the steel 
Around the courser's thund'ring heeL 
That e'er shall dint a sable wound 
On fair Glamorgan's velvet ground ! 

IL 

From Chepstow's tow'rs, ere davm of moa. 
Was heard afar the bugle horn ; 
And forth, in banded pomp and pride, 
Stout Clare and fiery Neville ride. 
They swore, their banners broad should gleam, 
In crimson light, on Rymny's stream; 
They vow'd, Caerphili's sod should feel 
The Norman charger's spurning heel. 



And sooth they swore~-the sun arose, 
And Rymny's wave with crimson glows; 
For Clare's red banner, floating wide, 
Roll'd down the stream to Severn's tide I 
And sooth they vow'd — the trampled green 
Show'd where hot Neville's charge had been ; 
In every sable hoof-tramp stood 
A Norman horseman's curdling blood ! 

IV. 

Old Chepstow's brides may curse the toil. 
That arm'd stout Clare for Cambrian broil; 
Their orphans long the Strt may rue, 
For Neville's war-horse forg'd the shoe. 
No more the stamp of armed steed 
Shall dint Glamorgan's velvet mead; 
Nor trace be there, in eaily spring 
Save of the Fairies' emaUd nog. 



THE DYING BARD. 621 



THE DYING BARD. 

[The Welch tradition bears, that a Bard, on his death-bed, d« 
manded his narp, and played the air to which these verses ara 
adapted; req,De3tbig, that it misbt be performed at his fonermL] 



AiB Dafiydx Gangwen. 

I. 

Dtnas Emlinn, lament ; for the moment is nigh, 
"When mute in the woodlands thine echoes shall die: 
No more by sweet Teivi Cadwallon shall rave. 
And mix his wild notes with the wild dashing wave. 



In spring and in autumn thy glories of shade, 
Unhonour'd shall flourish, unlaonour'd shall fade ; 
For soon shall be lifeless the eye and the tongue, 
That view'd them with rapture, with rapture that sung. 

III. 

rhy sons, Dinas Emlinn, may march in their pride, 
An d chase the proud Saxon from Prestatyn's side ; 
3ut where is the harp shall give life to their name? 
And where is the bard shall give heroes their fame? 

IT. 

And Oh, Dinas Emlinn ! thy daughters so fair. 
Who heave the white bosom, and wave the dark hair ; 
What tuneful enthusiast shall worship their eye, 
When half of their charms with Cadwallon shall die? 



Then adieu, silver Teivi ! I quit thy lov'd scene, 
To join the dim choir of the bards who have been ; 
With Lewarch, and Meilor, and Merlin the Old, 
And sage Taliessin, high harping to hold. 

VI. 

And adieu, Dinas Emlinn ! still green be thy shades, 
Unconquer'd thy warriors, and matchless thy maids I 
And thou, whose faint warblings my weakness can tell, 
Farewell, my lov'd Harp! my last treasure, farewell I 



THE MAID OF TOKO. 



THE MAID OP TORO. 



O, lo-w shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro, 

And weak were the whispers that wav'd the datk 
wood, 
All as a fair maiden, hewilder'd in sorrow, 

Sorely sigh'd to the breezes, and wept to the flood. 
*'0, saints ! from the mansions of bliss lowly bending; 

Sweet Virgin ! who hearest the suppliant's cry; 
Now grant my petition, in anguish ascending, 

My Henry restore, or let Eleanor die !" 

All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle. 
With the breezes they rise, with the breezes they 
fail. 
Till the shout, and the groan, and the conflict's dread 
rattle. 
And the chase's wild clamour, came loading the 
gale. 
Breathless she gaz'd on the woodlands so dreary; 

Slowly approaching a warrior was seen ; 
Life's ebbing tide mark'd his footsteps so weary, 
Cleft was his helmet, and woe was his mien. 

*' O, save thee, fair maid, for our armies are flying I 

O, save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian is low ! 
Deadly cold on yon heath thy brave Henry is lying; 

And fast through the woodland approaches the 
foe." — 
Scarce could he falter the tidings of soitov/. 

And scarce could she hear them, benurab'd with 
despair : 
And when the sun sunk on the sweet lake of Toro, 

For ever he set to the Brave, and the Fair. 



HELLVELLTW. 



H LLVELLYN. 

flu the spring of 1605, a young eentleman of lalenti, and of a 
most amiable disposition, perished by losing his way on the moun- 
tain Hell vellyn. His remains were not discovered till three month ; 
afterwards, when they were found guarded by a faithful terrier- 
bitch, his constant attendant during frequent solitary rambles 
through the wilds of Cumberland and Westmoreland.] 

I climb'd the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyn, 
Lakes and mountains beneath me gleam'd misty 
and wide; 
All was still, save, by fits wheu the eagle was yell- 

And starting around me the echoes replied. 
On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn wa3 

bending, 
And Catchedicam its left verge was defending, 
One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, 
When I mark'd the sad spot where the wand'rer 
bad died. 

Dark green was that spot mid the brown mountain- 
heather, 

Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretch'd in decay, 
Like the corpse of an outcast abandoned to weather, 

Till the mountain- winds wasted the tenantless clay. 
Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended. 
For, faithful in death, his mute fav'rite attended, 
The much-lov'd remains of her master defended. 

And chas'd the hill-tox and the raven away. 

How long didst thou think that his silence was slum- 
ber; 
When the wind wav'd his garment, how oft didst 
thou start ; * 

How many long days and long weeks didst thou 
number, 
Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart? 
And, Oh ! was it meet, that, — no requiem read o'er 

him, 
No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him, 
And thou, little guardian,alone stretch'd before him,— 
Unhonour'd the Pilgrim from life should depart? 



i:* 



C24 HELLVELLTW. 

When a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has yielded, 
The tap'stry waves dark round the dim-lighted hail; 

With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded, 
And pages stand route by the canopied pall : 

trough the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are 
gleaming ; 

In the proudly-arch'd chapel the banners are beaming ; 

Far adown the lon|^ aisle sacred music is streaming. 
Lamenting a Chief of the People should fall. 

But meeter for thee, gentle lover ol nature. 

To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb; 
When, wilder'd, he drops from some clitf huge w. 
stature, 
And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. 
And moro sbitely thy couch by this desart lake lying. 
Thy obsequies sung by the grey plover flying. 
With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying. 
In the anns of Hellvellyn and Catchedicam. 



J2 



